


Talking to Myself

by postinghumorouslyposthumously



Series: Chillin' On a Building [5]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Bruce Banner (background) - Freeform, College Student Peter Parker, Depressed Tony Stark, Depressed Wade Wilson, Everyone's slightly depressed okay, Feels, Fluff, Gay Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Attempted Suicide, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Minor Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Mutant Powers, Mutant characters - Freeform, Natasha Romanov (background) - Freeform, Original Characters (background) - Freeform, Pansexual Wade Wilson, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Peter Parker, Protective Wade Wilson, References to Past Wade Wilson/Various OCs, Semi-OOC to OOC, Sexual Content, Steve Rogers (background) - Freeform, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark (background) - Freeform, Various OM/FC's Throughout As Minor Characters, Violence, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade Wilson/OFC (mentioned), friendly neighborhood spiderman, many references, references that probably don't make sense, so many references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-07-08 09:48:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15927914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postinghumorouslyposthumously/pseuds/postinghumorouslyposthumously
Summary: Have you felt a little off todayHad a lot to sayBut wound up talking to yourself.It's always a beautiful day in the neighborhood, right?-Installment V. Peter and Wade deal with the aftermath of Ghost, and just things falling apart in general.Takes place almost directly after Installment IV.





	1. Why Does Everyone Want To Kill Themselves?

**Author's Note:**

> I TRIED TO MAKE THIS THE CHAPTER TITLE BUT IT WAS TOO LONG SO HERE YOU GO I'M MAKING YOU SUFFER ANYWAY: 
> 
> Voila! In View Humble Vaudevillian Veteran, Cast Vicariously as Both Victim and Villain by The Vicissitudes of Fate. This Visage, No Mere Veneer of Vanity, is a Vestige of The “Vox Populi” Now Vacant, Vanished. However, This Valorous Visitation of a Bygone Vexation Stands Vivified, and Has Vowed to Vanquish These Venal and Virulent Vermin, Vanguarding Vice and Vouchsafing The Violently Vicious and Voracious Violation of Volition. The Only Verdict is Vengeance; a Vendetta, Held as a Votive Not in Vain, For The Value and Veracity of Such Shall One Day Vindicate The Vigilant and The Virtuous. Verily This Vichyssoise of Verbiage Veers Most Verbose, So Let Me Simply Add That it’s My Very Good Honour to Meet You and You May Call Me V.
> 
> -
> 
> Oh my god. Y'all. This first chapter KILLED me. I am dead. I struggled soooo hard with this chapter, it was a mess for a long time. This was one jigsaw puzzle I thought I would never complete. Honestly, I should probably wait to post this until tomorrow, and I will most likely regret this, but, like, fuck it. We're gonna go with it. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the first chapter! 
> 
> Songs for this installment (so far): 
> 
> Talking to Myself - Watsky 
> 
> Runaway Train - Soul Asylum 
> 
> Toxic - The Voice Performance - Melanie Martinez
> 
> Fall Away - Twenty One Pilots 
> 
> Grown Man Cry - Amanda Palmer

The sunset was the setting in front of them. Purple, pink, orange, red. Sending out vibrant, alarming flares as it started to drown in it’s sunken ship. Their legs dangled over the edge of the building. It felt a lot like old times sans suits and the fast food. They weren’t eating anything today. 

Peter ran his finger tips over and over again over his jean clad thigh, enjoying the texture of the denim. He looked over at Wade, who had not looked away from the sky since they sat down. Peter wondered what was going through his head. He always did whenever Wade went quiet like this. 

“What are you thinking about?” Peter asked. 

Wade didn’t turn to look at him. After a few seconds had passed, Peter thought maybe he didn’t hear him. Then, Wade sighed through his nose and responded. 

“I used to know this woman when I was in the Special Forces. Her name was Elvinna. Fuckin’ baddest ass motherfucker James fuckin’ Bond type’a person, ya know? She was like a superhero back before I met a whole bunch a superheroes and realized they all sucked--save this one friendly neighborhood Spiderman, have you ever heard of him?” Wade looked over with a raised nonexistent eyebrow and slight, amused half-smile. 

Peter chortled, and nodded with a roll of his eyes. 

“I may have seen a blurry picture or two in a newspaper,” Peter answered. 

Wade smiled at him. He turned back to look out across the city and sky. 

“Anyway--Elvinna. Made for kicking ass Elvinna. We all had our creepy crawly nightmares, but Elvinna was always the best at acting like she didn’t, ya know? Until, I guess, she got pregnant. Nobody knew she was pregnant, but they figured she knew, and didn’t tell anybody. So, she’s pregnant, and we go on a mission, all like normal. Only Elvinna’s fucked up. Everyone can tell she’s fucked up, but it’s  _ Elvinna _ , so we all just shrug. Elvinna’s Elvinna, she can handle herself.” 

Peter’s stomach had dropped somewhere around the middle of Wade’s narrative, even though he didn’t even know the woman. He could feel how Wade must have felt. He stared at the side of his head. Wade was looking directly down at the alleyway below. 

“What happened to Elvinna?” Peter asked quietly, though he had already guessed. 

Wade blinked, shoulders tensed slightly. Roused from whatever inner tangent he had been on. He didn’t look up. 

“She got dead.” 

Wade looked over at Peter. Something wrong with his eyes. The look Peter had seen so many times, and it scared him whenever he did because it meant Filch was about to walk around the corner, and Harry didn’t have his invisibility cloak handy. 

Wade looked back down at the ground, and Peter lunged to grab his arm half a hair’s breadth too late when the man pitched forward and free fell eleven stories. 

“ _ WA-DE!”  _ Peter’s voice cracked. 

He lunged over the side of the building, more like stumbling along the side than crawling. He probably looked demonic as hell, but it wasn’t top priority as he zeroed in on his target, sprawled across the ground. Bug / Windshield. 

He jumped when he was about five feet above the ground, and landed to the left of Wade’s body. It was dark in the alley way. The last stains of sun not reaching the crevice between the tall buildings.

Peter fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands, digging the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, unsure if he’d ever be able to get the image of Wade’s twisted body out of his head. Add it to the collection. A mental photo album. 

Peter sniffed, remaining absolutely still as he waited. Eventually, he heard Wade’s inhale. His heartbeat start back up. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men slowly putting humpty dumpty back together again. 

“You  _ asshole _ ,” Peter whispered hoarsely into his hands. 

Wade said nothing. Just stared up at the darkening sky. 

 

Rewind. Photoshop. Facetune. Sound effects. 

Wade carded his fingers through Peter’s hair  _ over,  _ and  _ over,  _ and  _ over, and over… _ The motion soothed them both. 

The heavy curtains on the bedroom window let no light in. The only sound was the ceiling fan whirring above them. Peter was sprawled over on his stomach on top of Wade’s chest, check pressed against the larger man’s pectoral. 

Wade remembered when Peter said they would sit on the couch with ice cream and talk about everything. But right now they were too tired. And Wade didn’t know how to make his voice work. 

The clarity in which he remembered the exact pressure he used to bar his arm across Peter’s throat and cut off his air. How his hands twisted around Cayden’s neck.  _ Snap _ . Like a Kit-Kat bar. 

Wade was a professional people hurter. Had done it almost all his life. He had the moves like Jackie Chan. He had that special gift of destruction. 

His mind was still spinning. Like how you spin around when you’re a kid, holding hands with all your friends in a big circle,  _ round,  _ and _ round,  _ and _ round, and round, and round  _ until it’s too hard to hold on, and you all let go and go flying back:  _ Zyoooooom!  _ Your ass hits the wall. One of the smaller kids feet literally leave the floor, like the blast from an explosion knocked them off their feet. You exploded back, hit your head on the floor with a skull rattling  _ THUNK _ , and giggled like mad.  _ Spin me the fuck around, baby.  _

That was the current status of Wade’s scrambled egg noodle. 

Wade grit his teeth. Kept running his fingers through Peter’s soft hair. 

 

_ THUNK!  _ There’s nothing more satisfying than the rush you get when you bang your head  _ just hard enough  _ on the floor. You taste it. It makes your tongue feel heavy, and your eyes fuzzy. You feel the blood in your head like marshmallows being poured into a bowl. 

The floor of an alleyway was  _ even better.  _

He felt bad, sure. Saw Peter next to him, sitting on his haunches, face hidden in his hands. But he had felt a metric fuckton lot worse when he woke up and realized he had tried to kill Baby Boy. 

Rage was also an emotion Wade experience in abundance. But he was better at humor and depression. Kind of his gimmick, ya know? But  _ rage _ …. _ wooweee BUDDY!  _ Hell hath no fury like that of the man who wants to  _ tear himself apart.  _

 

The TV was on in the background when Peter walked in.  _ The Nanny _ . Peter kicked off his shoes, and walked into the kitchen in his socks. He was surprised to find Wade, standing at the counter, mixing something. 

Peter raised an eyebrow, and came up behind him, gently wrapping his arms around the bigger man’s torso, and pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades through his T shirt. 

“What are you doing?” Peter asked. 

“Makin’ brownies.” 

Peter kissed Wade’s back again, eyes closed. 

“Why?” 

Peter asked, even though he knew the answer. Wade always made food when he was apologising for something. Peter heard him set the bowl and fork down before Wade turned in his arms, and slipped his hands around Peter’s middle. 

Wade slouched slightly, and set his forehead against Peter’s, looking him in the eyes. Wade’s were a lot clearer than Peter was unfortunately getting used to seeing them. 

“ _ I’m sorry,”  _ Wade whispered. 

Peter closed his eyes, and wrapped his arms tighter around Wade’s back. 

“Just don’t be a fucking asshole,” Peter. 

Wade curled his hands into Peter’s shirt, and nodded slightly. 

“I wasn’t even thinking, baby boy. I just...nevermind, I’m just sorry.” 

Peter hummed, then pulled back slightly, opening his eyes. 

“You just what, Wade?” 

Wade huffed, and pulled Peter back closer to him, pressing him to his chest.

“Just love you, baby boy,” Wade said, voice immediately taking a higher, bubbly note. 

Peter frowned, and closed his eyes again. 

“Wade...we haven’t really... _ talked  _ about anything.” 

Wade pulled back immediately, hand on the nape of Peter’s neck, and Peter met Wade’s concerned eyes. 

“If you wanna talk, baby, I’m all ears.” 

“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem,” Peter said drily. 

Wade raised a nonexistent eyebrow. Peter pulled one arm back and poked Wade in the chest. 

“ _ You  _ haven’t talked.” 

“What are you talking about? I talk all the time.” 

Peter stared at him blandly. 

Wade sighed dramatically, and turned around, picking his bowl and fork back up again. 

Peter continued standing still, close enough behind him to almost be touching, but now without his arms wrapped around him. 

“I’m not trying to force you, I just...Need you to know that I’m as here for you as you are for me,” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Wade was stirring rather slowly. 

“I know,” Wade said quietly after a minute. 

“Do you?” Peter asked honestly. 

After a few  _ tick, tick, ticks  _ of a clock they didn’t have, Wade slowly shrugged. An up down movement of the shoulders. 

Wade abandoned his brownie mix again. 

“It’s not you, baby, it’s me,” Wade snorted. 

Peter rolled his eyes, and leaned slightly forward, leaning his forehead against Wade’s back.

“But you’re trying? Promise you’re trying?” 

“Trying to what, Peter?” Wade asked in a slightly tired voice. 

“Trying to forgive yourself, and let yourself talk to me,” Peter said, staring at the floor, arms still crossed over his chest. 

Wade rubbed his nose. 

“I’m trying to let  _ you  _ forgive me, baby boy.” 

Peter dropped his arms, and settled them on Wade’s waist. 

“You don’t get to  _ let  _ me forgive you, Wade...I just do.” Peter squeezed his waist. 

Wade’s hands came down to rest over Peter’s. 

“I love you, Peter.” 

“I love you too, baby.” 

 

Wade walked. Meandered. Face hidden under a hat and hoodie, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t have a set destination until he wound up at the hospital. He stopped and stared at it for several minutes. Inside were two people who he had beat the shit out of when he was under Ghost’s control. 

Cayden’s body hit the ground with a muted  _ thump.  _ A sack full of juicy potatoes. 

Wade shook his head. He was done feeling sorry for himself, but it was kind of his thing, so he continued to feel sorry for himself. 

Music was playing from somewhere, but it was probably just a song stuck on repeat in his head. The lyrics were fuzzy, but the beat was clear. 

_ Fight me, motherfucker.  _

Wade chortled to himself. He pulled out earbuds and his phone. Drowned out everything else. 

Wade made like a music video, directing his own music video with the backdrop of the city streets, but all the footage turned out blurry. 

 

It did not feel weird to put on his suit again. He walked along the edge of a building. Some hotel or another. He held his arms out even though he didn’t need the balance, and imagined what it would feel like to plummet like Wade. 

It felt like another day in the neighborhood to be Spidermaning around, looking out for anyone who needed help. It felt good. Normal. Habitual. Steady. Peter could be Spiderman a lot better than he could be Peter sometimes. So he went into autopilot. Let himself revert into what he knew, what he was good at, what he had developed a skill for. Let his mind take a break. 

He stopped a convenience store robbery, then helped a homeless woman to a shelter. He broke up a fight that was just starting on his way home. Slow night. 

Peter stripped out of his suit in the bathroom, sweaty. Wade wasn’t there, and it caused a crease in Peter’s brow as he debated putting his suit back on and going out to look for him. But Wade’s suit was still on the floor by the closet, so at least Peter knew he hadn’t started taking jobs again without letting him know. 

Peter tapped his fingers against his leg, then got into the shower. He heard the front door open and shut while he was still standing under the stream of water. 

“Wade?” He called out, staring at the drain in the floor and watching the water swirl down it while waiting for a response. 

“ _ Hey!”  _ Came Wade’s shout of reply from the living room. 

Peter slicked his wet hair back away from his face.

“Where’d you go?” He called out in a raised voice. 

He heard Wade shuffled around. Maybe taking off his shoes. 

“ _ For a walk.”  _ Was the even toned response. 

Peter stood under the spray for a minute longer, then got out of the shower. 

He walked into the living room with a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still damp. 

“You okay?” Peter asked as he entered, finding Wade slouched on the couch in a hoodie and jeans. Wade lifted his head, and his eyes trailed over Peter’s body. 

“Well now I’m fantastic,” he replied. 

Peter snorted, and walked over to slump down next to him. Wade immediately moved his arm to wrap around Peter’s shoulders and sidled up next to him, speaking close to his ear. 

“ _ Come here often?”  _

“As a matter of fact, I live here,” Peter said, nudging Wade’s chest with his shoulder. 

Wade grinned against his cheek, then kissed it. 

Despite the arm he had slung around Peter’s shoulders, and the hand he had splayed across his chest, he made no further move to initiate anything. Peter leaned his head back against Wade’s bicep, and closed his eyes. He moved his hands to grab both of Wade’s, lacing their fingers together. 

Wade nosed under his jaw, kissing his neck twice, and then leaning up to press his lips against his temple, then the side of his nose, then the corner of his mouth. Peter started to grin. 

“You’re gross,” he complained fondly. 

Wade responded by licking Peter’s cheek. 

Peter laughed, and turned his head toward Wade. Wade took his hand from Peter, and grabbed his chin before kissing him properly. 

They ended up sprawled over the couch, Wade hovering over Peter, and Peter lying with his head against the armrest. His towel had come undone, was now trapped under him, half of it hanging off the side of the couch. Wade’s jeans rough on his legs and groin. 

Peter had his arms around Wade’s shoulders, invading his mouth with his tongue. Wade made small noises into the kiss. 

 

Music pounded throughout the apartment. Peter was fast asleep against Wade’s chest. Wade stroked his arm lightly, and couldn’t fall asleep. 

 

The end of the world happened with a box of donuts strapped safely in the passenger seat. The faded yellow Rav4 went over the bridge like it was a suicidal teenager who saw Slender Man. It was the four of us in the car. Me, white, yellow, and Simone Battle singing  _ He Likes Boys _ . 

**And the box of donuts.**

Right, excuse me. I beg pardon, box of donuts. You are just as valid as a- 

And we hit the water. The perfect swan dive. 10/10. These were all thoughts I had, of course, after I woke up, shimmed out of the open window and cut up through the cold water. I broke the surface like a baby whale being birthed, and back stroked over to the bay. 

The boxes rebooted like Windows 97, and promptly started exclaiming like those annoying ass children you have half a mind to slap:

**A** _ g _ **a** _ i _ **n** ,  _ a _ **g** _ a _ **i** _ n _ ,  **a** _ g _ **a** _ i _ **n** !

I beat water out of my ear, and walked back up to the street. My suit was wet now, but it would dry. Guns were probably jammed, but, like...whatever. I had more. Somewhere. 

I wonder why this is in first person. Well, no one ever said shit had to make sense. 

The requirements for reading this chapter is that you are perfectly willing to eat some fucking bullshit. Don’t worry, we’ll bake it into a nice pie for you. Don’t be afraid. We’re all mad here. Just go with it. There are five beets in a measure. That’s why your fingers turn pink when you play violin. All you have to do is count.  _ Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq , six, sept, huit, neuf _ -BANG!

I walked past the good, nice, fresh, respectable businesses and wished I had brought the box of donuts with me. Remembered the Rav4 was stolen. Promptly forgot again. I walked past a music store. I went in, and bought a baby blue electric guitar, because Peter played guitar. I carried the guitar for about a block, got tired of carrying it, gave it to a woman sitting on the ground. Peter wouldn’t mind. He didn’t play guitar. 

Everyone always compared crazy to fire. What was so crazy about fire? I guess I could see the comparison. Both gobbled everything up. But fire didn’t eat anything. Fire burned shit. Crazy didn’t eat anything. Crazy was a force of nature. Like fire was a force of nature. Destructive. Occasionally hot when you got Jared Leto to do it. 

My boots squelched like the least satisfying sex you can imagine. Stepping on lo mein. I figured I should get home. Peter’d want me to go home. He’d want me to  _ talk  _ to him. It was kind of a dick move, leaving when he was still sleeping on the couch. 

_ Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?  _

**Truth is relative.**

_ To whom?  _

**God.**

“ _ Hey!  _ You’re the motherfucker!” 

If I had a joint for every time I heard that, I would be in a state of perpetual bliss. 

I turned around. A short guy with a slightly crooked nose. I recollected sending him crumpling to the floor once. Ethan? Everest? Emerson?

_ Edan. _

_ Snap.  _

More like a-- _ Crack _ \--really, when you think about it. 

We stood across from each other, only a few feet of sidewalk separating us. Edan was glaring like I killed his wife, fists clenched, fuming. 

“You killed Cayden.” 

It took me a moment to remember he was talking about Kevin. 

“That’s a funny story, actually…” I began. 

**Where’s a popcorn machine when you need one?**

“YOU MOTHERFUCKING COCK EATING BASTARD FUCKING FUCK MOTHERFUCK!” 

Emerson clumsily yanked a gun out of his waistband with the obvious anger and intoxication of a soul who has nothing. I yanked a katana from it’s sheath behind me, made to lunge and swing when some flying spiderwebs knocked it out of my hand and stuck it to the window of the laundromat we were standing in front of, right next to the now equally webbed up pistol. 

Wade turned around, along with Edan, to see Spiderman crouching on top of a car parallel parked along the side of the road only a few feet away. 

“Go home, Deadpool. You’re drunk,” Peter said drily, voice only slightly changed from his mask. 

“Only on my love for you,” Wade chirped back. He imagined the glare Peter was sending him.

Wade glanced shortly back at Edan, and then turned around, started in the direction of the apartment again. 

 

“HEY! YOU MOTHERFUCKER GET BACK HERE!”  

Peter jumped down from the car and stood in front of the man before he could go after Wade. The man threw a punch, and Peter blocked it, shoving him back. The man stumbled, then righted himself before glaring. 

“Do you know what the motherfucking cunt did?” He asked harshly. 

“Gonna have to elaborate. Who are you?” Peter asked, crossing his arms. 

“He killed my fucking-My...He killed someone I fucking cared about!” 

Peter put it together that the man in front of him was talking about Cayden. 

Peter sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose through his mask before looking up again. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said sincerely. The man stared at him, a mixture of confusion and rage on his face. Then, he made an ugly noise in the back of his throat, and threw his hand up. 

“Fuck yourself,” he said, before turning and walking in the opposite direction. Peter watched the man pull out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. 

 

Peter fell back on the bed, tossing his mask over to the dresser. Wade was stripping out of his wet Deadpool suit, dumping soaked weapons on the ground. 

“What the fuck happened to you?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Went for a swim at the community pool.” 

“Oh, so now we’re lying as well as leaving without telling each other where we’re going?” Peter asked drily. 

Wade walked over to the bed, ass naked, and climbed onto it on his knees. He kneeled on the bed next to Peter.

“The truth is I drove a car off a bridge,” Wade said in a light voice.

Peter stared unimpressed at him. The seconds went by. Wade moved, and layed down next to him, staring at the side of Peter’s face, who had turned his head to stare up at the ceiling. 

“I guess I’d probably drive off a bridge a few times, too, if I knew I would survive,” Peter murmured. 

Wade turned over on his side and brought his hand up to rest on Peter’s cheek, thumb stroking his cheekbone. Peter looked over at him. 

“I got scared when I woke up and you weren’t here,” he said quietly, not looking away from Wade. 

“Yeah, I--....yeah, I wasn’t all there when I left, I don’t think.” 

Peter frowned, and raised his arms to loop around Wade’s neck. 

“Who was that guy?” 

“Cayden’s not-boyfriend. Also the one who was beating him up in the alley.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay…” 

Wade said nothing. 

Peter leaned up and kissed him once. 

Wade sighed slightly when he pulled away, a contented noise. 

“I don’t feel as guilty as I should for killing him,” Wade said, like ripping off a band-aid. 

“Since when have you worried about feeling as guilty as you should?” Peter asked. 

Wade blinked at him, surprised. 

Peter leaned up and kissed his cheek once before leaning back again to look at Wade. 

“I don’t want you to feel guilty.” 

“He was innocent, Peter. And I snapped his neck like it was a chicken’s and I was the farmer.” 

“I don’t care.” 

Wade stared at him. 

Peter shrugged, knowing how he probably sounded. 

“I mean no judgement when I say this, baby boy, light of my life, highlight of my day, love of my soul--obviously I’m in no position to do so, but--what the fuck?” 

Peter raised an eyebrow. 

Wade shifted so that he was lying down again. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulders so that the Spiderman’s head was resting against Wade’s bicep. 

“That doesn’t really sound like you, spiderbabe. 

Peter said nothing, trailing his finger over Wade’s chest, no longer meeting Wade’s eyes. 

Wade paused for a few minutes. 

“Are you okay?” He asked finally. 

Peter looked up at him. 

“I’m just sick of feeling like shit.” 

Wade pulled him up to meet his mouth. Peter kissed him. Again, and  _ again _ , and  _ again _ . 

As if it would solve all their problems. 

 

Wade kissed up Peter’s stomach, taking a moment to roll one of his nipples between his teeth before continuing his path up. Peter groaned, cupping the nape of Wade’s neck as he started sucking marks on his neck and jaw. 

Wade loved how Peter squirmed beneath him, making small noises with each kiss and nip Wade made to his skin. Wade finally moved to capture Peter’s mouth, and Peter responded immediately. 

They moved until Peter was straddling Wade’s hips. Wade closed his eyes. He felt Peter shift and sit up. Then, Wade felt a hand wrap around his throat. Tighter than Peter ever normally would. Wade’s eyes flew open. Ron Weasley red hair, and a face that matched that kid he killed that one time.  _ Remember?  _

**Don’t remember that in the Journey song.**

Wade struggled to breathe, but didn’t move to try to pry Cayden’s hand from his throat. Instead, he kept squeezing the hips that were previously Peter’s, but no longer felt like it. 

Cayden leaned forward, and all Wade could do was watch. The hand crushing his airway felt like iron, and was just as cold. Cayden spoke against Wade’s ear, and his voice sounded familiar, but it wasn’t Cayden’s. 

“ _ I’m not gonna hurt ya...You didn’t let me finish my sentence. I’m not gonna hurt ya...I’m just gonna bash yo-”  _

Wade blinked awake. Cold sweat made his skin wet, like he had just climbed out of the water from earlier. 

There was a rushing in his ears, that faded to the thumping of his jack-rabbit heart, then slowly the room and all it’s geometrical correctness came into focus. 

_ Wet dreams about an underage kid...pedo much?  _

**Oh come on, kid was cute. Can’t deny that.**

“Shut up,” Wade said tiredly without much force as he sat up. 

He looked over at Peter, who shifted in his sleep. Wade remembered trying so hard to pummel him. 

Wade was glad Peter didn’t wake up. It had already been a long enough day, and Peter had class tomorrow. 

**Look at you, being all considerate.**

_ YA FUCKING PUSSY  _

“Chill, my dude,” Wade muttered, climbing out of bed, heading for the bathroom. 

It made sense that the first bit of sleep he’s able to get is filled up with a nightmare. They were on queue in his head like Netflix was filming and directing.

Wade turned on, and got into the shower; he stood under the cold spray. Everything feels better while you’re in the shower. You have no responsibilities besides standing there. 

The tiles on the wall were cool against his skin. He thought that maybe he should be thinking something, pondering something. Contemplating his existence, or crying like you’re supposed to do in the shower. But his mind was blissfully blank. Someone had whiteoutted everything, and it all tasted like TV static. 

 

Peter knew he should feel more. Feel bad for the people who died, the people Wade hurt, and the boy he killed. Peter knew what he was  _ supposed  _ to feel. The  _ feeling  _ requirements for superheroes. Just the right amount of sympathy, guilt, and sadness to be considered  _ good  _ while still being able to...superhero. 

He walked from his first class towards the cafe. He had enough time to grab lunch before his next. Focusing was hard for him on a good day, but today it was like trying to draw straight lines with a baby fist covered in pudding. 

He felt  _ drudged _ . Like someone had dragged him up from a swamp.

Peter’s phone started vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the caller ID, expecting Wade or Aunt May. 

_ Natasha.  _

Peter stopped in his tracks. A girl who was walking on the sidewalk behind him made a surprised, annoyed sound, and walked around him. Peter kept staring at his phone. He pushed away every thought telling him all the things that had 100% totally just exploded, and answered the phone. 

Never one to sugar coat or beat around the bush, Nat opened the conversation with: 

_ “Dr. Sadana tried to kill herself this morning. _ ” 

Peter closed his eyes. 

“Is it-” 

“ _ It’s not Ghost. Ghost is still...gone. We haven’t found any leads, either _ .” 

Peter supposed he should feel guilty for not even bothering to look for any leads on Ghost the past couple weeks. But then again, he kind of figured there would be no leads. Maybe that was stupid of him, but...wait. Right. Conversation. Having one. Now. 

“ _ Peter _ ?” 

“Yeah?” Peter said stupidly. 

“ _ I was just letting you know. That’s all.”  _

“Okay...what’d she say?” 

“ _ She said she couldn’t handle the deaths of her three patients.”  _

Peter nodded, knowing that wasn’t the whole story. 

“...You’re looking for leads on Ghost?” He asked. 

“ _ Yes. Tony, especially.”  _

Peter snorted. 

_ If you ever start to crumble... _

“ _ We’ll call you if we need you.”  _

“Don’t rush to the phone if you do,” Peter said without thinking. 

There was silence for a few moments. 

Peter was never particularly close to Natasha. He didn’t think Nat was particularly close to anyone. But he was an Avenger for a couple of years. He was on her team. He went on missions with them, defeated bad guys with them, ate thai food with them and all that. 

“ _ We fucked you up, Peter. Get over it.” _

Peter snorted. Then laughed.  _ How uncharacteristic of you, Natasha Romanov.  _

“You self-absorbed motherfuckers.” 

Peter hung up the phone. 

What even was his relationship with the Avengers any more? It was like a dysfunctional sitcom family. Fuck him in the asshole. 

 

Peter sat on the edge of the building in Wade’s lap. They were both suited up, which made the position slightly uncomfortable, but Peter was willing to suffer. 

The sun was starting to lower. Almost sunset. Peter told himself he’d get up and start patrolling after dark. Right now, he leaned his head back against Wade’s shoulder. Their hands tangled together in his lap. 

It seemed that there had been a shift in what these times spent on top of buildings with Wade meant. They were always sort of bonding moments, where they were alone together, and maybe even where Peter fell in love, but now they breaks from the world even more than they used to be. Now, they were breaks from everything in their lives. It was a silent agreement between them that they would try not to worry or stress about things when they were sitting together on top of buildings like this, the city encompassing them instead of spread out before them. 

Everything felt so easy up here. 

Time went by quickly, and the sun had all but disappeared. 

“Want to come patrolling with me?” Peter asked. 

“I don’t think it would be a good idea for Spiderman to be seen with Deadpool right now.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. Right. Because Deadpool went on a rampage and put two people in the ICU, before getting in a fight with the Avengers, and notably, his best buddy Spiderman.  _ Even crazier than usual.  _

“Even if I cared, it’s not like we’ll be seen.” 

Peter felt Wade shrug, the movement jostling him. 

“Then I just don’t feel like it tonight.” 

Peter nodded in acceptance.

“Okay,” he said. He paused for a long time. His bones felt melted, and he didn’t want to get up. “What will you do?” 

He heard Wade sniff, and then in an over dramatic, sad voice: 

“ _ Wait for you to get back _ .” 

Peter snorted, then leaned forward, stretching before he moved off of Wade’s lap. 

“Don’t get into any trouble, okay? Be good.” 

Wade scoffed, putting a hand to his chest. 

“Me? Never.” 

Peter grinned, pulling his mask up to his nose before kissing Wade on the mouth over the Deadpool mask. 

“See you later.” Peter made to pull away, replacing his mask the way it was, but Wade grabbed his arm. Peter turned back to look at him. 

“Be careful, Spiderman.” 

Peter smiled reassuringly even though Wade couldn’t see it. 

“Will,” Peter said in response, and then left him. 

 

_ Smart, adorable, attractive, Spiderbabe, Peter.  _

Wade mused as he walked towards his favorite bar.  

**And your a sticky clump of reject Russell Stovers chocolates in fucked up packaging.**

Wade just shrugged to himself. He was in a good mood. 

The grimey bar tasted like AIDS. If Wade wasn’t immune to it, he would be afraid to catch something. 

_ Nah, you’d feel right at home.  _

A prostitute walked into the bathroom with someone hot on their heel. Wade simply sat at the bar with his elbows up on the countertop, chin resting in his hands. 

Everyone in the bar pretty much ignored him. They had all seen him before, and they were the type who didn’t watch the news, so they probably hadn’t even seen what he had done. Honestly, they probably wouldn’t have given a flying fuck even if they had. 

**Not this crowd.**

“Deadpool!” 

The bartender, Z, said, stopping in front of Wade. He had an intensity about him that made Wade think he was about to get paid to do something bad. 

“I wanna pay you to do something bad.” 

_ It’s like you have your own spidey senses.  _

“Owe money, Z?” Wade chirped. 

He shook his head. 

“Fucked anyone up lately?” The bartender asked in way of response. Wade snorted. 

“You don’t watch the news,” he stated.

Z rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. 

“There’s this dickhead, Derek.” 

Wade liked Z. 

“He’s fucking my niece. She thinks she’s in love with him or something--keeps coming home with bruises all over her…” 

Z’s eyes trailed down to stare at the bar, then he blinked and they snapped back up to look at Wade. Z pulled a white envelope with an address scrawled over the front out of his pocket. He set it down in front of Wade.

Wade glanced down at it, humming in approval. 

_ Looks like a cash envelope if I ever saw one.  _

“There’s eight hundred bucks in there. The address is the little cunt’s.” 

Wade drew his pointer finger over the envelope, swirling it around the messy handwriting. 

“So I assume you don’t want Derek dead for such a shitty price?” Wade asked. Z leaned back and shook his head. 

“I don’t need that shit on my pillow when I lay down to sleep. Nah, just beat the shit out of him. Tell the motherfucker to stay away from Katrina--that’s my niece,” he said, “you’ll get another five hundred after.” 

Wade shrugged, then took the envelope off the bar. 

“Pour me a drink, Z.” 

Z poured him a drink. Wade yanked his mask up a fraction to down the burning liquid, then tugged his mask back down again. He stood up, holding the envelope at his side. He winked, and clicked his tongue at Z. 

“Keep the lights on, Z,” Wade said, walking away from the bar and towards the door. “I’m off to cut a bitch!” He announced to the whole bar. 

“Fuck ‘em up, Deadpool! A random patron of the bar bellowed after him, before knocking his drink back. 

These were his real friends. 

Deadpool threw him a thumbs up, and ran out the door. 

 

Derek hadn’t stood a chance. By the time Wade was done,  _ fucked him up  _ was an understatement. He had gone a bit loco. Probable permanent damage. Guess Derek would just have to learn how to live life as a cripple. (The best he could hope for now was not to have a panic attack every time a  _ Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs  _ commercial came on, because that shit was  _ ruined _ for poor Derek). 

It’s not like Wade had never gone all SAW on someone’s ass, it’s just that he had never done it for thirteen hundred bucks. Nah, the maiming of Derek The Abusive Douche Canoe was pure stress relief. 

Wade swung back by the bar to pick up the rest of the cash, and was given a gratious nod by Z. Wade took the second envelope and left. 

 

Peter didn’t get home until 4:00am. He dragged his feet as he came in through the fire escape. Wade watched him peel his mask off, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead, and knew immediately something was wrong based off the expression on baby boy’s face. 

Peter walked over to the couch and stared down at Wade. Wade stared up at him, waiting for him to que him on what to do. Peter’s face crumpled slowly, like how one’s face does when you anticipated the tears and just let them come, only half sincere in your attempt to push them away. 

“Why does everyone wanna fucking kill themselves?” Peter whined, falling down on the couch beside Wade and curling into him. Wade wrapped his arms around Peter, smoothing his hands up and down his back. 

Peter didn’t sob, but Wade felt some moisture on his neck where Peter had his face hidden. It didn’t last long. Peter sat up, sniffed, and wiped his eyes. He stayed close to Wade, and stared at the floor. 

“What happened?” Wade asked after the burst of emotion. 

Peter waved his hand. 

“Just this kid--this little fucking kid--I found about to jump off a bridge,” Peter sniffed again. Wade put his hand on the nape of Peter’s neck, eyes trailing over his face, feeling guilty. 

“I convinced her to get down. I took her to the LGBTQIA+ teen shelter because her parents kicked her out, which is also so goddamn fucked up.” 

Wade squeezed the back of his neck, and Peter sighed. He looked over at Wade. 

“But just another day in the neighborhood I guess...distract me, what’d you do tonight?” 

Wade shrugged, turned his head away and staring at the coffee table instead of the sad birthday party Peter Parker. 

“I beat the shit out of an abusive boyfriend for thirteen hundred dollars.” 

Peter said nothing for a moment, and Wade was hyper aware of their only point of contact, his hand on the back of Peter’s neck. Then, he felt him nod. 

“Oh.” 

 

Peter was asleep in bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, body tangled in the blanket, laying on his stomach with his limbs stretched out across the mattress. His hair was still damp from their shower. 

_ You’re fucking this up.  _

But really, what else is new? 

Wade dragged his hands over his face and got into bed with him. He snaked his arm around Peter’s narrow waist, and Peter moved back until he was flush against him. 

Wade buried his nose in Peter’s hair, and kissed his head. 

_ It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood...a beautiful day in the neighborhood…. _


	2. The One With Elvinna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably should have edited this/worked on it a little more, but...when has that ever stopped me before? 
> 
> I do want to say that shit DOES get better. Like, end game for this fic is in Spideypool favor, alright? Shit's rough right now, but it does get better...real soon. 
> 
> As for Elvinna, if you're bored of her, don't worry. This is most Elvinna-drama-centric chapter there will be, and it's a fairly short one. (And now I have to live up to that, because I said it here) 
> 
> Yeah, anyway, I hope you like this one! Sorry I haven't updated in a while, haven't really been feeling it, but fearo not! I'm a Higgly Town Hero like the rest of 'em.

You know when you’re chewing gum, and because you have the tendency to fidget, you play with it. Hold one end between your teeth, and pull it with your fingers, stretching it as far as it can go before collecting it back into your mouth, chewing it up, and starting all over again. A disgusting habit to be sure, but when has that ever stopped anyone? 

Let me explain to you a thing. Come with me now, on a journey that may be hard to understand at first, but bear with me, and all shall become clear. I’m not that smart. 

I sneak into your bones. Take root in your nervous system. I pulse in impulsivity. There I am, wrapping one hand around your neck, and one over your mouth to push down the screams scratching at the cords in your throat. I turn you into a tightly strung piano. I push all your wrong keys, play a symphony of dropped tool box in the garage. 

Your blood smells like sweat smells like sugar smells like chili powder and tastes like the good stuff they give you when you’re new and naive. You have to pay more for the dirty abandoned warehouse floor glazed over expression forty seven pounds underweight shit. 

But I’m not this dramatic. We both know it. We don’t try to pretend. There’s nothing significant about our fire gloom tango down Main St. 

We eat our feelings just like everyone else. Are addicted to porn, just like everyone else. Avoid our problems with the teeth grinding beat of anything that’s not what we should be doing. 

He pushed himself, and pushed himself. Burnt the candle at both ends, as they say. Only you don’t light a candle from both ends. You light a candle at one end. So who lit the other end? Really, it’s not my fault, then. I wasn’t the one who lit that other end. And I can’t just stop burning my end because someone else lit the other end. I’ve got shit to do. Responcimabililities. 

And maybe, watching the wax grow smaller and smaller is satisfying in a way. Like sharpening a pencil down to almost nothing, or Tiny Kitchen videos. Isn’t there a relief we all feel whenever something gets smaller? All things smaller are less intimidating. Less room for error, stress, pain. Canvas’, bodies, lifespan.

We all fall apart after a while. 

But before we do, there’s a period of...not peace--not the calm before the storm--but...stagnance. 

We all end up talking to ourselves, then. 

 

**Woah, let’s tone it down a bit here!**

_ It’s only chapter two.  _

 

Wade stood in the doorway of the bedroom and watched Peter. 

Peter was sitting at the kitchen counter, staring at some meaningless spot in the kitchen, unmoving. Wade could only see half his face, but he knew that look. 

He felt himself losing Peter like he lost Elvinna. 

 

The air tasted bad there. Like...ash and sweat mixed together. It had a texture, like a locker room. 

There was a woman standing in the corner, going through a big backpack. She stood at a whole hulking height of five-foot-six, and had buzzed hair that was starting to grow out. 

Everyone in their unit saw how Wilson looked at their team leader. It wasn’t so much the flirting that clued them in, because Wilson flirted with everybody. But it was how his eyes found her when he thought no one was looking, and how they grew so soft, and sad, and angsty. 

They were on a mission gone wrong. 

How unexpected, am I right? 

Usually, they could get themselves out of sticky situations with some effort, some risks, some carefully calculated fuckery...but everyone knew Kumar wasn’t in the game tonight. That look in her eye in the truck before they got out? Far away, distant, glazed over. 

All it took was her standing a little too close to the open window, a bullet to the middle of her vest, and she fell backwards. 

Wade remembered turning and watching. It was dark, and he couldn’t see very well. Couldn’t see her face as her legs hit the windowsill and she suddenly disappeared, as if the darkness had reached out and grabbed her. Sidled up behind her, wrapped its arms around her waist, and pulled her back. 

_ ‘Come on baby, come back to bed.’ _

It was no slow motion stretch of time and space. Her eyes did not flash in the light, Wade say no look of surprise. Lightning did not strike the moment she fell. It happened in an instant. There one second. Gone the next. 

Wade turned. Shot the man who shot her. Shot him in the face, then the torso before the man even fell to his knees. Ran past him. It took him a while to get through the building, and by the time he made it downstairs, some of his team were already there. Surrounding Elvinna’s body like it was already a wake. His team member was crouched down by her, but it was obvious she was dead if the blood pooling around her was anything to go by. Wade stared with wide eyes at the body. 

He doesn’t remember exactly when, or how long after it was when he found out. 

“ _ Three weeks pregnant when she died. Everyone’s pointing fingers at you, Wilson. _ ” 

Yeah, Wade remembered a night before Elvinna died. Maybe even a night a few weeks before. Maybe a night where there was a bottle being passed back and forth, and then a sloppy meeting of mouths, and then a lack of condoms in both of their bags. 

It was just one of those things, you know? Those danger, adrenaline, risky, fun things you do because the person in front of you is attractive, and maybe--if the circumstances were different--everything you had ever wanted and a bag of chips. At least for a second. 

 

The difference was he actually  _ had  _ Peter...which made it seven billion times worse. 

“Pete,” Wade said quietly as he neared the counter. 

Peter seemed to shake awake. The jolt of reality that nips you on the nose. He turned his head quickly to look at Wade, blinking back into normal. 

“ _ Hm _ ? Hey,” he said. 

Wade looked at him. 

“Are you okay?” 

Peter got down from the countertop chair, and rested his hands up on Wade’s shoulders. 

“Yeah, fine, just zoned out a little.” 

Wade kept staring at him, and tried to resonate with what was happening now, in this moment. And not something that happened however many years ago. Peter frowned. 

“Are  _ you _ okay, Wade?” Peter asked back. 

Wade blinked, and slipped his arms around Peter’s middle. 

“‘Course,” Wade said with a grin. 

Neither of them bought the bullshit they were feeding each other, but neither of them said anything, because it felt too good to have hands on each other. Felt too hard to break the teeter-totter balance chattering between them. Instead, Peter arched up and kissed Wade shortly. 

“I gotta go,” Peter said, turning out of Wade’s arms.

Wade put his hands on his hips and watched Peter pull on his shoes and bag.

“Bye,” he said as Peter closed the apartment door on his way out. 

 

Peter hated the awkwardness and silence that prevaded the air whenever he was with Wade now. Hated that he didn’t have any idea as to what to do. Hated how he felt like he was trudging through mud, felt too tired to lift his fucking head. 

It was so easy to say that everything would work out after the thick of the shit was ever. So easy to think that everything would slip into place as easily as you could slip into sweet Lover’s arms. 

Peter shook his head. Less dismally, less disappointedly, more an attempt at manual override.  _ If something won’t work, keep beating it until it starts.  _

Getting through class was about a hundred times more painful now than it ever had been before. 

_ How did this happen _ . 

How did they just... _ break _ like that. So fast, so severely. 

_ Shlice.  _ Katana breaks carefully woven spider web right down from the rafters. The fragile, thin strings flutter helplessly to the ground. Slower than the clattering katana, which plummets ugly.

Peter shook his head again. He regretted not telling Wade he loved him before leaving. He pulled out his phone as he walked. He debated calling, but he thought that might be too hard, so he texted instead. 

 

Wade’s phone buzzed. He swiped across the cracked screen and saw the text. 

_ Spideybabe:  _

_ I love you.  _

There was an unmistakable sound of something in Wade’s ribcage rattling around. And if someone were to see him and call him less of a man when he started crying, he’d politely ask them what the fuck show they’d been watching. 

 

Tears welled up in Peter’s eyes as he read the text Wade sent back only a few moments later.

_ Wade:  _

_ I love you too spiderbabe _

Peter sniffed, and rubbed furiously at his eyes, feeling ridiculous. 

 

Wade hadn’t brought any flowers, but he had bought a bottle of whiskey. For old times sake, of course. 

_ Elvinna Kumar  _

The headstone was straight forward. A name and a date. The unforgiving stone was a lot like the person whose grave it was marking. 

It was his fault she was dead, of course. She never would have died if she hadn’t been so out of it distracted. She would never have been so out of it distracted if Wade hadn’t gotten her pregnant. Never’ve gotten her pregnant if they hadn’t gotten drunk one night in a city where neither of them spoke the language well enough to ask where the goddamn bathroom was, if he hadn’t pulled out a bottle whose label he couldn’t even read. If he hadn’t ben such a stupid, careless, idiot, fuckwad,  _ cuntdumbassmotherfuckingidiot _ . 

For all he knew, he wasn’t even the one who got her pregnant. For all he knew, Elvinna hadn’t even known when she died. 

But that’s a lot of fucking coincidence for- 

Wade scoffed, took a swig of the bottle. It did nothing for him anymore. To be perfectly honest, he had no idea why he was here. He hadn’t been here in years. 

What were the odds of one person killing and almost killing two people he loved? 

_ You’re such a piece of shit for feeling sorry for yourself, you know that?  _

 

Wade was getting tired of this broken record merry-go-round from hell. He knew Peter was too. And yet still there he was, wallowing in his bullshit. 

He knew he wasn’t good enough for Peter. You must be getting as annoyed as him with that little line, right?

He knew that kid deserved so much better than...this. But before, he had  _ tried _ . He tried so hard. When faced with difficult choices, he would ask himself  _ What Would Peter Do _ ? And that would usually steer him in the direction of the morally functional. 

He thought that he could be a good boyfriend sometimes. He  _ tried  _ to be a good boyfriend, a good  _ person  _ for Peter. Thought he could overcome the copious amounts of fuckall awfulness and... _ have  _ Peter for lack of a better term his head could come up with. 

He wanted him so bad. First time he saw that face, and even before then, he was dead. Done for. Melted into a pile of selfish, sticky, brownie batter.  _ Bang _ . 

The jerky up-down movements of Wade’s mindset made him wonder if they’d just keep going in circles. And how dizzy would Peter have to get before he’d get off the ride. 

_ You’re such a piece of shit for feeling sorry for yourself, you know that? _

Yeah...he knew that. 

 

\--If only Ghost had never come around and fucked up their whole lives, then maybe--

**This isn’t on Ghost, you fucking asshole.**

Wade dropped his head and let it hang limply between his shoulders in frustration, chin bumping his chest. 

Alright, enough. 

He got up, walked into the bedroom, and adorned Deadpool. Spidey had left little more than five minutes ago, and he could find him now if he hurried. Which, he did. 

 

Peter’s shoulders did something weird when he saw him. Clad in his red and leathers, striding into the alley like he were a mobster staging a shooting in a fancy restaurant. 

The teenage boy who Peter had just saved from being mugged looked skittish, and decided to bolt after casting a furtive glance towards Spiderman. Peter looked after him, but didn’t follow. Let the kid run home. 

Wade could almost see the questioning look on Peter’s face through his mask. Wade grinned. 

“Feel like gettin’ into some trouble, spiderbabe?” 

Peter groaned, and made rolling his eyes into a full body action. 

Wade’s grin only widened. 

_ Oh yeah...this felt good _ . 

The  _ rightness  _ of it all only increased as Peter swung them both up to a building nearby before perching on the edge and reaching up to press something in his ear. A button connected to the headset Stark had given him no doubt. Police scanner. Wade whistled as he sat beside him, swinging his feet in the air. 

Several seconds passed by. Peter listening to the police scanner and his spidey senses, whole body tense. Then, he spoke. 

“Thanks for coming out.” 

Wade looked over at him. 

“Well it wouldn’t be very fun to be gay if I didn’t.” 

Peter snorted, then suddenly grabbed Wade’s arm. Wade raised his eyebrows. 

“ _ Ooh _ \--are we about to get to go ham on some bad guys?” 

Peter listened intently to whatever information he was getting right then, then wrapped an arm around Wade’s waist and swung them both from the building. 

“We are  _ TOTALLY _ going to get to go ham on some bad guys tonight!” Wade exclaimed excitedly, kicking his feet and almost making Peter drop him. 

“Wade, you’re yelling in my ear,” Peter said in mild annoyance. 

Wade grinned, and planted a large kiss on Spiderman’s cheek through both of their masks. 

 

Turns out, it was a bank robbery in progress. Peter deposited them both on the roof of the building, and they got to work doing what they did best. 

Or rather... _ Peter  _ got to work doing what he did best, which was superheroing. Wade tagged along like a curious toddler...or puppy...or stalker. 

The bad guys were on the third floor, trying to break into the safe. Peter and Wade took the three bank robbers by surprise, taking them out easily. 

Peter finished tying them up in a ready gift for the police when they made it up to this floor, then walked away from the safe, carrying their weapons into the other room. Wade trailed behind him casually, not really paying attention to anything going on around him. 

So when someone suddenly slammed into him, attempting to send him through the open window Peter and Wade had come in through, he hadn’t been expecting it. 

Peter yelled, and shoved Wade the other direction just in time. Probably running on instinct. Maybe remembering how Wade had let himself fall off that building the other day. Only now  _ Peter  _ was the one falling through the window. The dark greedily sucking him back into it’s stupid, cockslut void. 

Wade yelled louder. Maybe a curse, maybe a good old fashioned  _ NOOO!  _ He lunged for the window. Saw Peter falling. Then, the Spider shot a web and caught himself before he hit the fast approaching ground.

Peter yanked himself up, flying through the air like he was bungee jumping. A cat leaping after a toy in the air with no real consideration for gravity or how it works. His feet landed on the building opposite the bank. He did a backflip in the air, and landed easily on his feet. 

Wade watched him, relief flooding through him as Peter turned, and looked up at him. Shooting him a thumbs up. 

Wade’s face hardened, and he turned. The thief had run, but Wade heard him in the stairwell. Wade gave chase. 

You know that buddy you have? The one with the  _ really  _ excited golden retriever, or other happy-go-lucky breed of dog? The dog that has that one toy that they play with so much, it’s held together by a few threads and God’s will? 

That’s what Wade was going to do to Bank Robber Number 4. 

Wade caught up to him while they were still in the stairwell. He went ahead and tackled him there. They went tumbling down the hill together. 

Wade’s head hit the edge of the stair, but, like, whatever. 

They stopped falling and spilled out over the first floor landing. Wade slowly got up, and looked down at the thief who was slowly starting to rise onto hands and knees, coughing and groaning pathetically. He fell again, tipping onto his side on the floor, clutching his arm to his chest. He stared up at Wade, dark mask askew on the robber’s face so that Wade could only see one, bright blue eye, the other covered by black fabric. 

He wondered what the poor victim of fate saw above him. Maybe just another fellow in a mask that was about to kill him. 

Wade grabbed the man’s collar, and pulled him up. He reeled his fist back, about to end this sorry motherfucker with one Jason Bourne fucking blow. 

“Wade!” 

And just like that. The heat of the moment fell apart. 

He looked up. Peter stood in the doorway of the stairwell, staring at him. He was tensed, ready to lunge. To stop Wade. 

_ Fight me, motherfucker _ . 

Wade looked down at the guy he still had a fist poised to punch, and dropped him.

The thief laughed. 

“ _ Good dog _ ,” he said, staring up at Wade wildly.  _ I’ll have what he’s had _ . 

Peter silenced the man by kicking him in the face. 

Wade started, head snapping up to stare at Peter, who had just done what he’d told Wade not to do. 

Peter stared back at him, expression unreadable through the mask. 

**Shit, baby boy.**

 

“You act like it’s my first time being pushed out a window,” Peter said jokingly as they walked into the apartment, pulling off his mask, Wade doing the same. 

Wade said nothing, just stepped closed and wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders pulling him close to him and kissing his head. 

 

Peter felt the need to be close. 

He  _ Loved  _ Wade. Capital L, major-time fucked type of love. 

He rolled over on top of him, straddling him. Wade grinned as Peter started kissing him. It was past three in the morning, the noises outside the apartment were hardly the only things making it impossible to sleep. 

Peter moved to Wade’s neck, which Wade was very vocal about. His hand was in Peter’s hair, fingers moving through it, scratching his scalp. Peter leaned up again. Wade had his eyes closed. Peter smirked, and leaned down again, kissing down Wade’s naked torso. Dipping his tongue into his navel, laving it over his hip bone. Wade made a strained sound above him, Peter laughed slightly. Maybe everything could be o-

“ _ Elvinna _ .” 

Peter froze. 

Wade’s hand in his hair stopped. 

After a few seconds, Peter sat up. Propping himself up with a hand on Wade’s waist. 

Wade’s hand was draped over his eyes, his face screwed up. 

Peter ran his tongue along the underside of his top lip, then ran his hand over his mouth. He climbed out of bed, pulling on a pair of stray sweatpants and a hoodie from the floor. He slid into black slides from walmart, then glanced over his shoulder back at the bed. Wade had not moved. Seemed frozen, face still screwed up and hand still covering his eyes. Peter waited several seconds, standing there by the bedroom door, then left. 

_ Come on baby, come back to bed.  _

 

He sat in a booth in the all-night pizza place. Slightly slumped over, elbows on the table, head being held up by his hand, which covered his eyes. A cashier had called across that he had to order at the counter when he sat down. He called back to just bring him a soda. The cashier muttered something, then left him alone. 

Finally, after a while, Peter sat back. He picked up one of his--Nope,  _ Wade’s _ . He had grabbed one of his on accident--hoodie strings and started chewing the end, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the table. 

Some part of him felt like crying, and his eyes watered, but no tears spilled over. 

It’s not everyday your boyfriend calls you the name of his dead team captain from his military days during foreplay, but, well...they were them. 

Peter scraped the water out of his eye with his thumb, then slumped back against the vinyl again. 

To be perfectly honest...he didn’t even take it that deeply. At least not like  _ that _ . He knew Wade wanted him, loved him, all that...whatever. 

But Wade had never...Peter felt like he was losing him. If only they could just fucking  _ talk  _ to each other. 

_ Well, I wonder who’s fault that is.  _

Peter leaned forward, and went back to his previous position leaning his elbows on the table and head in his hand.

He felt dizzy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this chapter! As always, come talk to me on tumblr! its: insidious-now 
> 
> Leave me a comment and tell me what you liked (or hated) about this chapter my dudes! 
> 
> Thanks so much!


	3. These Matters Are Delicate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Thanks For Checking In, I'm Still a Piece of Garbage. 
> 
> Made some small edits/adjustments to previous chapter (Chapter 2). Nothing major, just some tweaks that amused me. 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter! I once again had some trouble with it, but I like how it is now. (it was originally waaaaay different)
> 
> -
> 
> HERE'S A SONG UPDATE FOR THIS FIC  
> (if you want more songs that inspire this fic ((in my opinion)) go back to chapter 1) 
> 
> Body - Mother Mother 
> 
> Yellow Flicker Beat - Lorde 
> 
> Angel on Fire - Halsey 
> 
> Olly Olly Oxen Free - Amanda Palmer 
> 
> Natural - Imagine Dragons
> 
> Everybody Wants to Rule the World - Tear for Fears

Peter’s phone started going off at 6:20am. His alarm. He had work today. Right...that other,  _ other  _ thing he was balancing on top of school, Spidermaning, and trying to keep his relationship from falling apart. 

Peter sighed, and ran his hands over his face, then stared down at the table for a few more minutes. 

Okay, game plan. Go to work, clear his head, not get fired, and afterwards he’d go home and talk to Wade.  _ Really  _ talk to Wade. Cards on tables, hearts on sleeves, standing outside with a whole bunch of poster boards,  _ Do You Swear To Tell The Truth The Whole Truth And Nothing But The Truth _ . 

He got up and left the pizza place for the first time in four hours. 

 

If a month ago someone told Tony he’d end up back in bed with Captain America...he wouldn’t have been surprised. 

Tony stared up at the ceiling. He hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. However, it was the second time in a week he had ended up staring at  _ Steve’s  _ ceiling as opposed to his own. The Star-Spangled man himself was lying on his stomach next to Tony, face turned toward him and hand resting on Tony’s chest, fingers resting just below the arc reactor glowing brightly in the darkness. 

Tony lifted his hand and rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t remember the last time he went out. When he wasn’t drowning himself in work that had piled up while he was playing isolation cell, he was in his lab...continuing to work. 

He hadn’t put on the Iron Man suit since the whole Ghost fiasco. 

Steve shifted in his sleep, breathing in deeply through his nose. Tony dropped his hand from his forehead and looked over at him. Blue eyes opened and met his. There was a pause in which neither of them said anything. In which both of them pretended that they could just continue to lay there, and never get up. Not have to avoid each other for the rest of the day. Not feel like something had defeated them when Tony ultimately came trudging back and knocking on the door.

It was mean, selfish, dirty stuff of Tony’s part.

It was weak, foolish, damaging stuff on Steve’s. 

But in the ten seconds they spent looking at each other, it was just them in a bed sans everything. Leave Your Head at the Door kind of fucking. 

Steve sat up. He rubbed his eyes, then stared down at the sheets covering his lower half. 

Tony closed his eyes for several seconds. 

After a few moments, Tony heard Steve move, and felt his weight shift on the bed. He opened his eyes to find him leaning over him. Tony stared up at him, and waited. 

Steve leaned down, putting his hand on the side of Tony’s face, and kissed him. 

Tony responded for only a moment, before pulling away. He sat up, causing Steve to move back, and planted his feet on the floor. 

He heard Steve sigh through his nose behind him. 

“Go on then, Tony.” 

Tony stood up, pulling on clothes without looking over at the Cap. He paused when he finished, and finally did look at Steve, who stared up at the ceiling. 

Tony hesitated. Couldn’t think of anything to say. So instead, he stepped forward, put a knee up on the bed and leaned forward, placing a hand on Steve’s chest to steady himself, and kissing the man on the mouth. 

Steve closed his eyes, running his hand over Tony’s hair. 

Then, he was gone. 

Steve continued to stare up at the ceiling. 

“...JARVIS.” 

“Yes, sir?” 

Steve blinked. 

“Fuck.” 

“Indeed, sir.” 

 

Wade didn’t move for a long time. 

_ How could he be so stupid?  _ Such a fucking idiot. 

The  _ best  _ thing in his life; the one and only good thing. 

And Peter was  _ good _ . He was so, so,  _ so  _ good. And he still wanted Wade. Sometimes seemed like he wanted Wade more than anything else. This kid who Wade never should have met. Never should have fucked up. Never should have fallen in love with. 

But curse his fucking smile, and brown eyes, and hair, and skin, and humor, and derisive snort when he laughs. 

Wade dragged his hands over his face. 

**Ya blew it, big guy.**

_ Sayonara, buddy. Spidey’s never coming back.  _

He has to. He left his suit. 

Wade sat up. It was almost 6:00am. He looked around, and stared miserably at the conglomeration of their things that filled the room. 

Wade finally did it. Finally fucked up beyond all reckoning. Carnival’s closed now, folks. 

Wade looked at the bedside table. There was exactly one picture in printed existence of Wade. It was of him and Peter, standing in the kitchen. Wade had his arm wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, and mouth pressed to his cheek. Peter smiled widely at the camera, his eyes bright. Wade hadn’t been aware he was taking the picture. It was the one picture of him Peter had convinced Wade to let him print and frame. 

It stood on their bedside table on Wade’s side and now made every part of Wade scream. 

Wade lifted his hand to grab the picture, then stopped. Instead, he glanced up, grabbed the lamp behind it instead, and flung it across the room with a shout. 

The cord was yanked out of the wall. The lamp sailed, and shattered against the wall. Pieces of glass and porcelain rained down on the floor and some clothes that were piled in a heap. 

Wade buried his face in his hands and yelled in frustration. 

“YOU COULDN’T EVEN KEEP THE  _ ONE  _ GOOD THING IN YOUR LIFE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!” 

Wade screamed, muscles so tense there was a sharp pain in his neck, and his teeth grit together making a Bad Sound. 

Wade’s shoulders heaved with his breathing, then gradually relaxed and fell. His hands rested uselessly in his lap. He stared at the floor and didn’t know what to do. 

**Leave, you useless bastard.**

Wade scoffed sardonically.

 

It was almost light by the time Wade actually pulled his ass out of bed. He pulled on jeans, a hoodie, socks and slides. It was not peaceful outside in the morning damp streets, sun not bright enough to cast a glare yet. 

He walked for a long time. Traversing the stomping grounds with blind familiarity. His hands clenched uselessly into fists in his hoodie pocket. 

_ Boy, he could really pummel someone right now _ . 

_ Just go find another abusive douchebag, and cripple him.  _

Wade kept walking. 

He knew he was intimidating. A great, hulking figure of a man puttering about hunched over with his head low, hoodie covering his head. He looked like a gang member who just shot someone and now was trying to inconspicuously get away without being seen--falling miserably. 

He wanted somebody to start a fight. He wanted to get jumped, so he could let the knife slide across his neck. Blink back awake after a moment, then snap the fucker’s neck. 

_ Snap the fucker’s neck.  _

He passed a stray cat. It did not look at him. It was above that sort of thing. 

Wade felt like he had been spending a lot of time wandering around the city in angst. It was becoming a problem. 

But what else were you supposed to do when time had to pass, and the writer could think of nothing else better for you to do? 

Wade passed an alley, then paused when a pained grunt sounded from within the shabby, dim passage. 

Wade turned, and looked down the narrow alleyway. Two dark figures were standing there against the wall, one had the other pinned and was punching the shit out of him. 

Oh, you gotta be kidding me. 

Wade considered walking away. 

No, correction, he  _ did  _ walk away. Several steps away. Hands in his pockets, head down. He was no Good Samaritan today, nah bitch, remember what happened last time? 

Then, he paused. 

Peter stared at him, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked. 

_ Huh, that’s funny...never had an angel on my shoulder before. _

Wade turned, and stocked back to the alley. 

“ _ Hey! _ ” He shouted down the mouth of it. 

The two figures paused. Wade stood with his fists clenched at his sides, staring darkly at the two whose faces he could still not make out. They both stared back at him. 

Wade sneered. 

“Get lost,” he said, in no mood for witty banter, or whatever the fuck he usually did. 

The attacker snorted. 

Wade was  _ really  _ in no mood. 

So, he walked forward. Pace picking up. The attacker had the sense to look afraid as his features finally came into view. He tried to step back, made to run away as he realized he underestimated his opponent. Wade grabbed him by the throat before he could. He dragged him up real close and personal. The man’s eyes were hazel colored. 

Wade seethed. He said nothing. Their faces were so close, Wade was going cross eyed. The man was shaking. Terrified. 

Several seconds passed. Wade wondered what the fuck he was doing. 

He shoved the man, who stumbled back, falling briefly but catching himself on his hands. He ran to the opposite end of the alley, then slowed to a walk, furtively glancing over his shoulder to make sure Wade wasn’t following him as he turned, and disappeared around the corner. 

Wade turned to the person he’d just saved. 

His face dropped. 

“No... _ fucking  _ way.” 

Edan glared at him. Face a mess of bruises and blood. He held his ribs with one hand. Then, he reeled back his fist. 

Wade caught it. 

“Buy me a drink first,” Wade said with venom dripping from his voice. 

Edan yanked his fist out of Wade’s grasp. 

Wade turned around, and moved back in the direction he had came, shoving his hands back in his pockets. 

Edan stepped away from the wall, standing in the middle of the alley, slightly hunched over, nursing damaged ribs. He stared after the man who killed Cayden, the only person he’d ever loved.

“ _ I’LL KILL YOU _ !” He screamed. 

Wade’s ears burned. 

“ _ I’LL KILL YOU LIKE YOU KILLED HIM! _ ” Spit flew out of Edan’s mouth. He fell on his ass on the ground, then laid amongst the dirt and trash that littered the alley floor, and stared up at the ceiling, seething and unable to move. 

 

Wade ended up in a place he knew well Z’s grimy bar. Despite it being not yet one in the afternoon, there were quite a few people there. Z gave him a drink, but did not look at him. 

“How’s that pillow?” Wade asked. 

Z glanced up, then back down, saying nothing. He walked away. 

Wade downed the drink. 

His fingers itched. 

The next few moments played out in lightning quick scenes in Wade’s mind. 

He didn’t know what triggered it. A snide remark about a girl, someone scraping their chair on the ground in an annoying way, an asshole shouting at the TV.

Didn’t really matter. 

Wade ended up slamming their head on the edge of the bar. 

Next, someone tried to grab him by the shoulder and spin him around. And around he did spin, but only to cuff the idiot’s head between his open palms, and knee them in the crotch, only to realize that it was a woman and that it didn’t have quite the intended effect. But she fell to the ground anyway, so...success. 

Someone came at him with a broken bottle. Wade smirked.  _ A classic _ . 

He grabbed the bottle with his bare hand. The sharp, jagged edge went through his flesh. His attacker’s breath hitched, and he stared in horror at the glass pushed through Wade’s hand. 

Wade pulled his hand back, taking the bottle with him. He yanked it out with his other hand, and threw it at the man’s face. He grazed off the side of his cheek, and the man yelped. 

Wade stocked forward, and grabbed the man’s face, almost like he was going to kiss him. Then, he reared back and headbutt him. The man collapsed. 

Wade turned. The bar patrons who had not fled were not standing in defensive positions, eyeing him warily. Wade wondered how he looked. A scarred, ugly monster having just taken down three people like it was nothing. 

Then, Z shot him with a shotgun from behind the bar. 

 

He woke up a few moments later, Z and another bar patron leaning over him. They recoiled when he opened his eyes. 

Wade sat up, looked around. Z and the others stared at him in horror. Wade looked down. His hoodie was in shreds. 

He got up, and left the bar.

The others were too shocked to do anything but stare. 

Wade hustled. Had to get gone before the police showed up. 

He slipped his hands back into his pockets and blessedly closed his eyes for a few moments. He licked the back of his teeth. 

For those few moments in the bar: fighting, then lying dead...his mind had been so... _ blissfully  _ blank. 

 

He stared up at the apartment in fear. Wondering if Peter was there. If he wasn’t, and his stuff was gone too. 

He decided, after strenuous debate, that knowing was better than not knowing. 

The apartment was exactly how he had left it. 

He looked at the broken lamp, laying in pieces across the bedroom floor which painted a pretty accurate picture of his relationship. He sighed, and brought his hand up to rub his eyes. He was known for fucking up, yeah. And usually he didn’t do much about that. It was just a thing that happened. Wade Wilson: Deadpool didn’t  _ fix  _ things...and he had no idea how to fix this. 

  
  


Peter climbed out of an Uber in front of his apartment building at 5:45, staring up at it like it was the next big bad the universe decided to throw at him. It was starting to rain, drops of water sprinkling over his head and shoulders, speckling the sidewalk. 

Maybe Peter misjudged...maybe Wade really didn’t love him. Maybe all this time it was just Peter seeing everything how he  _ wanted  _ to see it...like he did with Tony, and the rest of the Avengers.

Maybe at the end of the day, nobody really wanted him.  For as many excuses and reasons Peter could think up, the fact still stood that Wade had called him someone else’s name. Wade still refused to talk to him about anything below surface level. Wade still was about as distant as the moon. 

Peter wasn’t blameless, but…

He wiped the tears that had sprung to his eyes away. He needed to buckle up and fucking  _ talk  _ to Wade. Four years wasn’t nothing. The fact that Wade Wilson: Deadpool let Peter into his life was  _ definitely  _ not nothing. Peter didn’t give a shit if Wade didn’t  _ think  _ he was worth it, because he  _ was _ . Peter wasn’t giving up, no fucking way, asshole. 

 

Wade reached for the door handle of the apartment at the same time it opened and Peter walked in. 

Wade stared at him, mouth slightly open, surprised. He felt something pushing against his ribcage. Several tiny monsters with several huge sledgehammers--one in each hand--pounding away. 

He noticed that Peter was wearing his sweatshirt. 

Peter stared up at him. 

“Where were you going?” Peter asked. 

Wade ran his tongue across his teeth and looked down. 

“You were leaving?”

Wade looked back up, eyes meeting. Peter looked so hurt. Bambi eyes staring up at him like he was the hunter who shot his mother. 

_ Nice one, buddy _ . 

_ Were you not the ones who told me to leave? _

**Oh sure. Blame all your problems on us.**

“I thought...you weren’t coming back.”

Peter stared at him. Then, he scoffed and looked away. He sniffed, and rubbed his hand under his nose before looking back at Wade, fire in his eyes as his jaw set harshly. 

“I gave up everything because of you.” 

Wade leaned back, not knowing what to do. Peter stepped forward, and he didn’t step back. They were chest to chest, and Peter had to lean his head back to keep looking Wade in the eyes, and Wade couldn’t look away. Peter’s face was twisted up in several emotions. Anger being one of them.

“I fell in  _ love  _ with you, Wade. I realized I didn’t want to be an Avenger, I spent so many hours up on top of buildings with you, I fought with you, ate chimichangas with you, I showed you my face, told you my name, let you into my life...and you still act like you don’t mean shit to me.” 

Wade stared down at him, big blue eyes more miserable than Peter had ever seen them. His arms hung limply at his sides. Wade finally took a step back and looked down. He crossed his arms. The small space between them in their shitty, cramped apartment had never seemed so big. And Wade had never seemed so small. 

Staring at Peter’s shoes forever seemed a better alternative than anything else. 

“I’m trying so hard, Wade.” 

The words, and the way Peter said them--like he was about to start crying--made Wade look up. Peter’s eyes were watering. Peter sniffed and closed them, pressing his hand to his face in what looked like an effort to stop crying. Wade watched him. After several seconds, Peter took a deep breath. 

“I can’t keep fighting if you’re just gonna give up, Wade.” 

Wade’s expression finally fell apart. He choked, then cleared his throat. Their eyes met again. This fucking man who decided his was the hand he wanted to hold for the rest of his life, as if Wade wasn’t covered in scars and dipped in crazy. As if Wade wasn’t so,  _ so  _ far beneath him, he was practically burrowing beneath Mariana’s Trench. 

And Peter kept looking up at him... _ Jesus  _ Christ _ , what the fuck am I doing? Why can’t I stop hurting him?  _

Wade glanced down at Peter’s throat, which, just a couple weeks ago Wade had almost crushed. 

_ And even after that _ ...Peter still looked at him like he was…

Oh, Wade didn’t know. Terrified to lose him. 

“I’m not giving up.” 

“Really?” Peter asked, still angry. A fast desperation taking over his voice. He stared up at Wade, then sighed. He bit his lip, and glanced away. 

Wade raised his hand and set it on the side of Peter’s neck, thumb resting under his adam’s apple. Peter looked back at him, and softened.

“But I don’t know what to do,” Wade finished. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Peter lifted his hand and held on to Wade’s arm, not breaking his gaze. 

“But you want to?” Peter licked his lips nervously, “fix it?” 

Wade frowned. 

“Of course I do, baby boy.” 

Peter looked like he wanted to sob. He leaned forward into Wade’s chest and bunched his hands into Wade’s T-shirt. 

Wade wrapped his arms around Peter’s shoulders and buried his nose in his hair. 

Wade was having trouble accepting that Peter was here, in his arms. Unbelieving that Peter could  _ keep getting back up  _ after all the times Wade kicked him in the fucking ribs. That Peter could keep wanting him.

 

“I keep seeing you...on that street, when I tried to kill you.” 

Peter stared at him with sad eyes. They had moved to sit across from each other at their small kitchen table that they never used. 

“I keep thinking about how I choked you, I-”    
“Wade,” Peter stopped him. “It wasn’t you.” 

“It  _ was  _ me,” Wade said angrily, slamming his palm on the table. Peter jumped, and glared at him.

“Do that again, I fucking dare you.” 

Wade slowly took his hand off the table, and looked down. 

**Nice going, you abusive son of a-**

“Would you fucking shut up?!” Wade exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Peter crossed his arms over his chest and waited while Wade wrestled with himself. 

Wade took a deep breath through his nose, running his hands over his face. He kept his eyes closed for a few seconds, then looked back up at Peter nervously. 

Peter reached across the table and held his hand palm up. Wade took it with both of his. 

“Okay,” Peter said. “Wade, I’ve told you before, I  _ forgive  _ you. I don’t blame you  _ at all _ . And we have to move on.” 

Wade stared down at their joined hands. He played with Peter’s, running his thumb across his knuckles, lacing their fingers together, drawing patterns over his palm with his fingernail. 

Wade didn’t know to move on. How to stop thinking about how he almost killed him, killed him like he killed Cayden. Didn’t know how to look at Peter without seeing him standing on the other side of a bulletproof window, looking more afraid than Wade had ever seen him, and  _ because of him _ .

But he could try. 

“Okay,” he said, looking up at Peter. 

Peter squeezed his hand. 

“Why do you think you...called me Elvinna?” 

Peter stared down at the table, tracing patterns into it with the fingers of his free hand. 

Wade winced, pausing in his ministrations with Peter’s hand to let a wave of hate roll through him. 

“When...Elvinna died,” Wade paused. Peter looked up at him. Wade almost cracked in two when he looked in Peter’s eyes. “It was because she fell out a window.” 

Peter glanced back down. 

“So when... _ you  _ fell out a window, baby boy, all I saw was-” 

“Her.” 

Peter looked back up and met Wade’s gaze again. Wade nodded, and looked away. He saw Peter falling back through the window in the bank. Slipping away, as if right through Wade’s fingers. 

“Do you blame yourself for her death?” 

Wade let go of Peter’s hand again to rub his eyes, uncomfortable with the conversation. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked back at Peter. He didn’t need to respond for Peter to know the answer. 

Peter shook his head. 

“I...don’t know what happened with Elvinna, but...Wade, you gotta forgive yourself. You gotta let yourself move  _ on _ .” 

Peter leaned in slightly. 

Wade’s eyes fell from his to the table. 

Neither of them said anything for several seconds. Then: 

“I think I was the one who got her pregnant.” 

Peter leaned back in his chair. 

More silence. 

“I…” Peter started, then stopped. 

Wade looked up at him. Peter licked his lips.

“I’m sorry, Wade.” 

Wade scoffed in his throat, turning his head and squeezing the back of his neck. 

“I haven’t even thought about it for years, to be honest.” 

Wade looked back over at Peter. 

“I liked Elvinna. A whole lot. And if it wasn’t for me, she probably wouldn’t have died.” 

Peter glanced to the side. 

“You don’t know that, Wade-”    
“Okay,” Wade interrupted. 

Peter licked his lips again.

Wade didn’t want to be a dick, putting all his baggage on Peter like Peter wasn’t hardly even a twenty two year old kid. He also didn’t want to be carrying around all this weight of Elvinna’s death while he was trying to have something with Peter. He didn’t want to do that to him. 

“Maybe it’s not my fault.” 

Peter looked up. 

“But,” Wade looked down at the table and picked at a loose splinter, “it feels like it is.” 

Peter nodded. 

“Okay,” he said, “...I understand.” 

Wade’s eyes snapped back to his. The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked up for a moment. 

“It’s okay, Wade.” 

**Look at baby boy...already forgiving us and we haven’t even said** **_‘sorry’_ ** **.**

_ Yeah, you fucking asshole.  _

Wade buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath. He rubbed his hands over his cheeks, then his neck before dropping them. He stared at the table. 

“I’m so sorry, Peter.” 

Wade could feel the tears building, making his vision of the table going blurry. 

“I’m sorry that I can’t  _ pull  _ my  _ shit  _ together...I’m sorry that I’m not here for you, that you have to deal with all my bullshit-” Wade barked a sardonic, deprecating laugh as a few tears dropped onto the table. 

He looked up and went to say more, when he saw that Peter was gone. He frowned, then looked over to find him standing right next to him. He had gotten up and stepped over to Wade without him noticing. Wade stared up at him, sniffing miserably. 

Peter put his hand on Wade’s shoulder, and sank down into his lap, straddling him in the chair. Wade leaned back to make space for him, settling his hands on Peter’s waist. Peter carressed Wade’s cheek with his hand. 

“It’s okay, Wade…” Peter said. 

Wade stared at the collar of Peter’s shirt, tears stubbornly refusing to go away. Peter tilted his head up and made Wade look at him. 

“I’m so sorry, Peter, it’s all my fault.” 

Peter closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead against Wade’s. 

“Could we just...stop blaming each other for everything? Blaming ourselves?” 

Peter’s breath lingered on Wade’s mouth, making it hard to concentrate on anything. But he told himself to focus. He laughed a bit shakily. 

“That’s a lot easier in theory than it is in actuality.” 

Peter bit his lip. Wade watched with growing fascination. 

“Then we can practice,” Peter said. 

Wade cocked an eyebrow. 

Peter opened his eyes. Wade nodded. Peter’s arms slipped around Wade’s neck. 

“We’ve gotta start talking about shit again, Wade. Because I love you, and you’re not a burden, or extra baggage, or worthless to me--God, you gotta stop thinking you’re worthless.” 

Wade looked down again.

One of Peter’s hands came around to hold Wade’s cheek, tilting his head up to look him in the eyes again. 

“Don’t ever think you aren’t worth it to me. Don’t do that to me, or especially yourself.” 

Wade tilted his chin up and kissed him. 

_ Easier said than done, baby boy.  _

Peter took a deep breath through his nose and kissed him back. For a moment. Before pulling back. 

“We have to stop apologizing. Stop walking around sulking and not doing anything about it, stop pushing all our shit down and not talking about it.” 

Wade bunched his hands in the sides of Peter’s shirt. Peter cradled the back of Wade’s head with his hand, his other still resting against his cheek. 

“Okay?” 

Wade nodded, unable to look away from his eyes. 

“Okay.”

Peter studied Wade for a few seconds, eyes trailing all over his face. A year ago, Wade might have felt self conscious because of it. Peter’s hand moved down to Wade’s jaw, and he tilted it up, slipping his tongue into his mouth. 

Wade made a noise into the kiss, then pulled back just enough to speak. 

“I love you.” 

Peter smiled, and kissed him again. 

Peter moved off Wade’s lap, and Wade followed him. They turned, and Wade sat down on the edge of the table, Peter standing between his legs. He started at the corner of Wade’s mouth, and worked his way down, sucking marks onto his jaw and just under his ear. 

Wade wrapped his arms around Peter, fisting a hand in his short hair, running his other down Peter’s back. 

“ _ Peter _ …” 

Wade stood up, grabbing the backs of Peter’s thighs and lifting him up. Peter moaned, bracketing Wade’s torso between his knees. Wade kissed him, and carried him across the apartment, kicking open the bedroom door. He climbed onto the bed, and laid Peter down beneath him. Wade hovered over him. Peter wrapped his arms loosely around his neck. 

Peter stared up at him, dark eyes bright. Wade leaned his weight on one hand and used his other one to caress Peter’s cheek. He brushed his thumb across his cheekbone. 

“Im gonna do better,” he promised softly. 

Peter leaned up and kissed him, pulling away after only a few seconds. 

“I know. Me too.” 

Wade kissed him again. 

 

The woman hid herself in her hoodie, hunched over and glancing up. If it weren’t raining, she might’ve looked suspicious, standing on the street across from the tall brick apartment building, staring up at it with a Serial Killer Gaze. For the barest of seconds her eyes flashed, her teeth bared, lip curling back into an ugly snarl. Then, she stocked away, hands shoved deep into the pockets of her hoodie. 

 

Wade groaned. Peter held his hands in both of his, pinning them to the headboard. He kneeled in front of Wade, Wade’s thighs splayed across his lap. Peter rolled his hips, grinding unforgivingly against Wade’s prostate, buried to the hilt inside him. 

Peter leaned down, mouthing along Wade’s jaw. 

Wade’s chest heaved, he clenched tellingly around Peter. Peter grinned against Wade’s skin, nipping at his jaw once before leaning back and letting go of Wade’s hands to get his hands under his thighs and start thrusting in earnest again. 

Wade groaned loudly, holding on to the headboard with white knuckled fists, the poor headboard creaking under the stress. 

Peter leaned forward again, pushing Wade’s legs up, bringing his knees up to his chest. The bed banged against the wall with every thrust. They both moaned. Wade came, clenching hard, setting off Peter’s own release. 

“ _ Fuck!”  _ Peter exclaimed, riding out both their orgasms. He collapsed on Wade’s chest, panting heavily. 

Wade’s arms came down and wrapped around Peter’s shoulders, stroking his sharp shoulder blades with his thumbs. Wade stared up at the ceiling, eyelids fluttering for a moment. 

Peter sighed deeply, and moved up to his hands and knees, releasing Wade’s legs and letting them down easy.

Peter leaned up, and grabbed Wade’s jaw, kissing him deeply. Wade made a noise into the kiss and responded after a moment. Peter kissed him a minute longer, then stopped, moving to lay at Wade’s side instead, resting his head on Wade’s bicep. Wade closed his eyes.

Peter sighed, this one significantly more  _ sherioush _ .

“I’m sorry, too, Wade,” he said, picking up their conversation from earlier. 

Wade opened his eyes. 

“What are you sorry for?” 

“Not talking to you either...blaming myself.” 

Wade squeezed Peter’s shoulders. 

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

They laid still for several more minutes before Peter stirred. 

“Come on--we have to take a shower.” 

Wade groaned in annoyance. Peter smirked, and sat up, pulling Wade up as well. Wade winced. 

“Jesus Christ,” he lamented as he was pulled out of bed.

 

Peter pulled Wade into the shower after turning it on. 

Peter washed his hair. Wade’s hands steady on his hips. It felt like another one of those peaceful moments. And, with Peter feeling like a weight had been taken out of his stomach, it felt even better. 

Peter closed his eyes and sighed as he leaned his head back to let the water wash away the shampoo. Wade’s hands brushed up and down his sides, head coming down to plant a kiss on his neck. 

They weren’t fixed. It wasn’t all better--Extreme Close Up Kiss-- _ happily ever after _ \--but it was the start. It was the walls finally breaking, and some fucking  _ progress  _ happening. 

Peter breathed out, pulling his head back up laboriously and fluttering his eyes back open to look at Wade. Wade stared at him warily. 

“You are not allowed to look that cute and innocent when you just spent the last half hour rawing me, baby boy.”

Peter snorted, and put his hand on Wade’s chest, leaning forward and up to lav his tongue over the column of Wade’s throat, before closing his mouth around it and sucking hard. Wade shuddered. 

“Y-yep...much better.” 

Peter grinned against his flesh. He pulled back to look at Wade, face softening. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

Wade raised an eyebrow. 

“For what?” 

Peter tapped his fingers against Wade’s chest, staring at them rather than up at the man. 

“Not giving up.” 

Wade moved one hand from Peter’s waist, using it to tilt Peter’s chin up. 

“ _ Never _ ,” Wade admonished, as though declaring a determined quest for revenge in a shitty action movie. Wade grinned and leaned down to kiss him sweetly. 

 

Peter squinted at the bright, liquid sunset. It shimmered above the city, spread out before them. He brushed his hands over his legs, wrapping his arms around his drawn up knees. The scene was familiar. He looked over and saw Wade. 

The man swung his legs slowly, staring down at the ground below, not looking at Peter. Peter felt the urge to reach out and wrap both arms around him, hold him tight, hold him  _ back _ ...lest he do something stupid.  _ Again _ . 

Peter stared at the side of his boyfriend’s face, screwed up with memories and emotions Peter didn’t understand. 

Then, he heard sniffling to his left. 

Peter turned his head, and saw someone standing on the edge of the building, back to him. 

_ Settle down, folks. We got ourselves a jumper.  _

Peter looked down and realized he was now, somehow, wearing his Spiderman suit, sans mask. He lifted his arm and turned it back and forth, examining it. Then, he heard the sniffling again, and a quiet whimper. 

Peter glanced back at Wade, but found that he wasn’t paying attention. Like he couldn’t hear the crying kid. Didn’t see her standing there, ready to begin the shortest acrobatic act ever. 

Peter stood up, and walked cautiously across the rooftop towards the girl, who couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen. 

“Hey,” Peter reached out a hand towards the girl. She froze when she heard him, hiccuping. Her head whipped around to stare at him over her shoulder. Peter stopped, and stared at her, worry evident in his face. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asked, trying for casual. He slowly let his arm drop back to his side, though it itched. His whole body wanted to lunge forward, grab the girl around the waist and yank her back to safety. 

She sniffed, and didn’t respond. 

“...What’s your name?” Peter tried again. She had angry red tear streaks down both cheeks, making her face shiny and eyes puffy. 

“Katie,” she hiccuped. 

The corner of Peter’s mouth quirked up in a way he hoped was reassuring. 

“Hi, Katie.” 

She turned back around. Peter took half a step forward, arm raising again, hand outstretched toward her, but fingers useless. 

“Katie, why don’t you get down? And we can talk?” 

Katie’s shoulders shook. 

“They won’t let me go home,” the girl said, voice so quiet and hoarse that if Peter hadn’t had supernatural hearing, he wouldn’t have been able to hear her at all. 

Peter’s brows knit together. 

“Who? Who won’t let you go home, Katie?” Peter asked, taking another miniscule step forward. 

Katie sniffed, and hiccuped. Hand coming up to rub at her face.

“My parents,” she said morosely. The wind blew, and Katie’s body swayed side to side. Peter grimaced, taking another sharp step forward. He was almost there. Another small step and he’d be close enough for his reflexes to take over if the girl did something stupid. 

“...Why not, Katie?” Peter tried, stepping forward again. So close and yet so far away from the young teenager threatening to let herself fall. 

“It doesn’t matter now...” She whispered

“Yes, Katie. Yes it does.  _ You  _ matter, Katie, and if you just get down I can he-” 

Katie stepped off the ledge. 

Peter was frozen. Unable to move. Unable to process. 

_ That’s not how this happened… _

Peter lowered his arm, and stepped up to the ledge, looking down but seeing no body on the ground. It was like the girl had disappeared. 

Peter took several steps back. He turned back around, towards Wade. Wade was gone. Peter’s whole body tensed. He rushed forward. Sprinted to the ledge where he and Wade had been setting just a few moments ago. He stopped himself short, breath hitching when he looked down and saw Wade’s body sprawled awkwardly across the ground, blood seeping out around his head; a red halo. Peter’s jaw fell open in horror, mouth quivering uselessly. He swung himself down to the ground, and landed on his feet next to Wade. He stared down at his cold, open eyes. Peter dropped to his knees beside him, started reaching a hand out towards him, waiting with his heart in his throat for him to get up. For his smashed in skull to repair itself. For his broken limbs to snap back into place. His eyes raked all over Wade’s body, waiting for the first sign of regeneration. He thought he saw Wade’s hand twitch when- 

_ Bang! _

Peter made a loud, strained noise as a bullet ripped through Wade’s head. Pierced him right between the eyes. Peter pushed himself up to his feet, whipping around to the source of the gunfire. 

Standing there. Right behind him. Gun still aimed at Wade’s head. 

_ Ghost _ . 

She stared straight at him. Her mouth was partially open. Her eyes were devoid of emotion. They were dead. Slowly, slowly...she looked up. Up at something past Peter’s head. 

He turned around, and his eyes fell on the open window of his apartment just in time for a woman to fall back through it, hands and legs pointing up, gravity pulling her torso down first. 

Peter felt a hand on his shoulder. He whipped around, ready to fight Ghost, but Ghost was gone. Replaced by Wade. He had that look in his eye…

_ Fight me, motherfucker.  _

Peter stared up at him in horror. Wade, hand still gripping Peter’s shoulder, reeled back his other fist; Peter could do nothing but watch in slow-motion.

Then- 

He woke up. 

 

Peter’s eyes popped open with a gasp. He blinked wildly, waiting until the ceiling came into focus and he could breathe again. He looked over at the other side of the bed. Wade was turned towards him, hand resting on Peter’s stomach, fast asleep. Peter latched on to it with both hands, breathing hard, then working on slowing and deepening his breaths. 

Peter stared at him for a minute, then sat up. He ran his still trembling hands over his face, then got out of bed. 

He padded barefoot to the bathroom, pushing open the door and flipping on the lightswitch. 

Nothing. 

Peter frowned, turning to flip the switch several times as if it would do anything. 

He stopped, and stood still a moment. Something was wrong. 

He turned, and walked out, into the dark living room. The curtains were open in here, allowing the city lights to cast a faint outline of the apartment. He stood in the middle. Toes curling against the ground. 

It wasn’t...anything tangible. His spider sense wasn’t going off the rails telling him he was about to die, no, it was just...a gut feeling. He looked around, towards the apartment door. He flexed his fingers, curled them into his palm, and resisted calling out for Wade. 

It was the worst moment in a horror movie. When you’re waiting for something to happen that you’re not sure will, but God help you if it does. 

Peter took a deep breath in. Out. 

Slowly, for effect, the doorknob turned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Badamn, there it is. Chapter 3. They finally talked to each other!! (I'm bad at slow-burn, can't you tell?) 
> 
> But uh-oh! Who's opening that door?! 
> 
> Hope you liked this chapter! Leave me a kudos (even if you didn't), and a comment telling me what you did or did not like about the above shitshow!


	4. Big Blue Eyes Like I Was All The Damn Stars In The Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Chapter Title: I'm Holding it Against You Now   
> Guess who's probably posting a chapter too early again? Oh well. Maybe I'll edit it later!   
> I’m here, I’m queer, I’m gonna FUCK YOUR SHIT UP!   
> Yeah, I’ve been gone for a while! But, really, who’s surprised? Hope you like this chapter, because...IT’S THE END OF THIS INSTALLMENT!   
> Don’t worry though, the next one will be out soon-ish. Like, hopefully...less than a month? But I make no promises.   
> Uh...yeah, I told y’all that this one would end with a happy ending, but, like...I lied. To be honest, I don’t know why I keep promising things when I have no real idea if they’ll actually happen or not. Says a little something about me.   
> Anyway, I do hope you like this chapter, um...you’ll probably be mad at me, but it DOES get better.

**Just when you thought this wouldn’t be a werewolf fic.**

_ Welcome to chapter fucking four.  _

 

_ Bang!  _

_ Crash! _

_ Ba-THUMP! _

 

There’s only so much sleep a guy can get with all this racket. 

Wade lurched awake, diving out of bed, scrambling out into the living room wearing absolutely nothing. 

Peter was pressed up against the wall by someone wearing a hood. 

_ Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck?! _

Wade sprinted across the room, grabbing the person by the shoulders and yanking them back, throwing them onto the ground. 

They hardly hit the floor before they were bouncing back up, taking a strange, wide-receiver defensive position. Like they were ready to go in for the tackle. In the split second of stillness, Wade took attendance. 

He was naked, Peter was coughing like his left lung was army crawling it’s way up his throat under heavy fire. His friendly attacker’s eyes were glowing faintly yellow in the darkness.

The attacker growled, and lunged. Wade’s back hit the floor hard. He suddenly had a whole handful of crazy on top of him, snapping their jaws in his face like an angry dog--the only thing keeping her back being Wade’s forearm braced across her chest. (because it was a  _ her _ , or, biologically anyway. Wade wasn’t thinking too much about misgendering in the middle of this shitshow)

Then, crazy was being pulled off him. Peter (who was actually wearing clothes) yanked her back by the nape of her neck, throwing her to the floor. She sprawled, then Peter was on her, grabbing her by the shoulders and slamming her back into the ground, head cracking against the floor. 

Peter had her pinned by the wrists, knees pressing into the woman’s hips to keep her down. Then, she somehow managed to wrench one arm away, and then it flailed, and Peter yelped. Like, honest to god sad puppy noise yelp. 

He rolled off her, staggering on the ground. Wade lunged to keep the woman pinned, but she was fast.  _ Too fast _ . She dove between his legs, and upended him onto the floor, headfirst. She then turned, and planted a delectable kick to his kidneys. 

Then she was on Peter again, lifting him up by a hand wrapped around his throat. Wade turned over on his side, staring with confusion written on his face at this person who had practically cut through the two of them like butter. 

_ Man, you’re outta shape.  _

Wade pushed himself to his feet, making a grab for the woman at the same time Peter kicked out with his foot. The woman caught Peter’s ankle, and let go of his throat, making him collapse to the floor with his ankle still firmly in the woman’s grasp. 

Wade slung his arm around her throat, getting her into a choke hold, holding on to his elbow as tightly as he could with his other hand. 

The woman struggled, her grip around Peter’s ankle not faltering. As for Peter, his head had hit the floor hard and he seemed to be dazed. 

The woman reached up with her other hand and Wade suddenly felt a sharp pain down his forearm.

He grimaced.  _ She had a knife? Since when?!  _ He held on tighter. His skin healed in the wake of the knife that felt more like  _ knives  _ scratching across his arm, spilling blood over the three of them. Wade tried to maneuver to a position to snap her neck, but she locked her body and pressed her chin down so hard into Wade’s arm that now  _ he  _ was the one who was trapped. Then, she let go of Peter’s leg and elbowed Wade several times in the ribs. 

It was enough to make him falter, and she was able to struggle out of his hold. She elbowed him in the face as she sprung away.

Wade stumbled back momentarily, feeling blood pour out of his nose, pain bursting through his face. Peter rose unsteadily to his feet beside him, Wade grabbed his shoulder, chest heaving. They both looked up in time to see their attacker disappear through the fire escape. 

Peter made to lunge after her, then tripped over the coffee table and hit his head again. 

 

When Peter woke up, he was lying on the couch in his thoroughly trashed apartment. Moreso trashed than usual. His back stung, and his head was throbbing. 

“ _ Wade _ ,” He groaned loudly as he sat up. Wade appeared from the kitchen, wearing his Deadpool suit. 

“Goodmorning, sunshine!” Wade chirped, coming closer to the couch holding a plate full of pancakes drenched in syrup and a fork. He passed it over to Peter, who immediately began shoveling the sticky breakfast food into his mouth. He winced as he leaned over the coffee table, and set down the plate, reaching around to try and feel his back. 

Wade sat down next to him, and Peter turned. Wade helped him get his shirt off. It hurt to raise his arms above his head. 

Peter had five deep scratches (already partially scabbed over) across the expanse of his upper back. 

“Be _ Jesus _ …” Wade said, carefully skimming his fingers over Peter’s back. 

Peter looked over his shoulder, attempting to look at his back, then up at Wade. 

“Hurt like fuck,” he said. 

Wade said nothing for several seconds, then spoke quieter. 

“The fuck happened, Peter?” He asked, staring at the scratches. 

Peter turned his head to stare at the front door. 

 

_ The doorknob slowly turned. It opened to reveal someone slightly shorter than him, hoodie with hood pulled up obstructing view of their face.  _

Peter went tense. One beat. Tw-

They lunged. 

Peter braced his arms up, fending off the attack. He didn’t expect the person to be so strong.  _ Inhumanly  _ strong. 

Peter stumbled back. The person  _ clawed  _ at him, and he felt the four sharp nails rip through his T-shirt, sting against his skin. He wasn’t sure if the scratches actually drew blood. 

Peter blocked a punch, and dove across the coffee table, grabbing a ceramic mug that was left there and chucking it at the intruder’s face. It grazed the side of their head, but the damage roll was low. 

Peter ducked underneath the grab the attacker made for him, and the next just barely. He heard the attacker  _ growl _ . Like-actually, Cu-fucking-jo,  _ grrrr. _

He landed a punch to their face. Their head snapped back, but--again--overall it didn’t do much good. The next thing he was aware of was his back to the wall, toes hardly touching the ground, a tight hand around his throat. 

 

“-then you came out,” Peter finished. 

Peter stood up from the couch and turned to the fire escape. 

“How long have I been out?” 

“Half an hour?” Wade said, standing as well, putting a hand on Peter’s shoulder. 

Peter frowned, and started to move towards the bedroom. 

“Woah, wait--who the fuck was that?”    
Peter turned back to Wade. 

“I don’t know. We need to go find out.” 

Peter shrugged out of Wade’s hand on his shoulder and went to put on his suit. 

 

It was almost like Tony was back to his usual old self. He no longer hid away in his apartment during working hours. He shaved. He made public appearances. He was his usual arrogant, egotistical, obnoxious self.    
Whether that was because or in spite of his new found hobby of secretly banging Steve Rogers, who could say?    
As long as they didn’t talk to each other outside of “ _ Oh God, yes _ ”’s and “ _ Don’t stop _ ”’s, everything was going to be just fine…oh, also, he couldn’t think about Pepper, who spoke to him solely and shortly about business matters, either avoiding his eye or capturing it and staring at him with such a cold indifference, it usually made Tony’s whole head go blank and render him useless and unproductive for the rest of the day.    
He wasn’t confused.  _ Confused _ was for teenagers wondering why they got hard when watching the men’s swimming team during the Olympics. No. Tony was an adult. And more recently, an totally-not-depressed Adult who Did Things and Spoke To People He Really Didn’t Feel Like Speaking To.   
So why, standing in his office, trying desperately hard to focus on the thing he was reading, was he imagining– _ remembering _ –Steve’s hand encasing the nape of his neck, holding him against him as if he would never let go. Squeezing just hard enough to be considered angry, even with Super Soldier Serum. His mouth was set onto a hard line. He, like Pepper, would not look him in the eyes.    
Tony stood back and rubbed his eyes.    
Steve was gone today. Off to the bigger Avengers facility further North in the country. Training, or helping develop new training methods, or a new training room, or giving speeches about patriotism and what Justice-For-All meant. Either way, he was gone.    
Pepper was gone too. Or so Tony’s calendar told him.  _ Pepper – Gone _ . With four days blocked out. Tony told himself that Pepper was a busy woman. She was almost as important as he was in running Stark Industries. But deep down, he thought it was because of him. He really couldn’t blame her.    
And just to squeeze some lemon juice onto this already salted wound–he ended up thinking of Peter more times than not. Maybe just because he was another person Tony ultimately fucked up…no, yeah, that was definitely the reason. Now Peter was off being his own Hero–with  _ Deadpool _ of all goddamn people.    
But who was Tony to judge complicated relationships.    
  
Steve left the upstate Avengers facility a day early. He almost didn’t want to, but the space had given him some time to think. Two days to think, actually. To brood, and be alone, and figure out a game plan. A strategy.    
Steve climbed out of the helicopter on top of Avengers Tower. He didn’t know how far below him Tony was, but they were going to have a damn talk.    
  
Tony looked up when suddenly the elevator into his office opened and Steve walked in, a searching look on his face. Tony raised an eyebrow. Steve turned and saw him. His expression turned hard, and he started to stalk over. Tony’s face immediately fell, holding a tablet limply in his hand.    
_ This ought’a be fun.  _   
“Tony, we need to talk.”    
The words every girl wants to hear.    
Tony looked at him for a second longer, than looked down at his tablet again, swiping ineffectually at the screen to appear busy.    
“Kinda in the middle of something,” Tony responded.    
Steve stepped around the table Tony was standing in front of, stood so close that Tony could practically feel the body heat radiating off him. Tony looked up, unimpressed.    
_ Male Olympic swimmers.  _   
“Now,” Steve said.    
And, shit. If Tony didn’t love it when Steve got demanding.    
Tony set down the tablet, and crossed his arms. They were still incredibly close. Tony hated that he had to tilt his chin up slightly to look Steve in the eyes. Any other time, Steve might have grinned at him about it.    
“What are we doing?” Steve asked.    
Tony said nothing.    
“Because if it’s  _ just…this _ ,” Steve paused, gesturing shortly between them, encompassing their entire situation with the wave of his hand, “Then I’m done fucking around.”    
Tony snorted. Steve half-glared. Tony turned away, his back against the table, gripping the edges with both hands.    
“Alright…” Tony said, as if to say ‘ _ I’ll bite’, _ “What is it you want, Cap’?” He asked, turning his head to look at Steve again, feeling a lot more confident with the bit of space put between them.    
Steve stared at him. Hurt, and angry, and determined all in one. In one quick movement, he stepped forward and grabbed Tony’s face, crashing his mouth to his. Tony made a noise as Steve kissed him fiercely, like he wasn’t going to stop till one of them was devoured. Tony kissed him back, hands finding their own way to the Cap’’s waist. Tongue and teeth and gums. All the hurt and frustration poured into it, like a rush of a dam. All the love and want seeped through gradually. Slowly. Moving them until Steve was the one with his back to the table, and Tony was cupping the back of his head, fingers scraping over the short scratchy hair there. 

Nat ran in, interrupting them. She didn’t bat an eye as they broke apart, Cap’s hand flying up to his mouth to wipe excess saliva away. 

“Nat! What the hell?” Tony exclaimed, staring wide eyed at the red head, chest rising and falling quickly. 

Natasha stared at them, angry Russian stare that meant something was wrong spread across her face. 

Fuck. 

_ Indeed _ . 

 

_ Run, run, run… _

Was it all Peter ever did? 

Yeah. 

_ Dog Days and all that _ . 

Peter snorted out loud at his accidental internal pun. He was chasing after a dog mutant afterall. 

“Slow down, Fido!” Wade exclaimed as they sprinted. Wade flapped his hands in the air like someone who had never run, or seen anyone run, in their life. Peter almost smiled at his antics. 

It hadn’t been hard to find the woman. They had just begun circling the area around their apartment when she dove out from an alleyway and tried to kill him again. 

Peter didn’t know what the girl’s damage was, but he figured whatever it was--her chip was heavy. She started running when Wade shot her in the shoulder. 

Now, the woman clutched her arm to her chest, but still ran fast. In fact, now, she dropped her arm as if it had already healed enough to no longer be a pressing issue. 

Peter’s anxiety was raging, to say the least. 

Wade had tried to shoot at her once while they were running, but Peter had slapped his arm away.

Wade groaned in irritation, but tossed the gun to the side and ran harder. 

Now, Peter kind of wished he hadn’t made Wade stop shooting. 

The woman sharply veered left and started climbing a fire escape with amaciable speed. However, Peter had to wonder if the woman realized she was going exist fucking  _ Spiderman _ . The king of building climbing? 

Peter shot webs up at the top of the fire escape and yanked himself up, landing on his feet and making the whole metal structure clang and jangle as though it were a giant’s pocket of loose change. 

The woman froze, staring up at him, realizing her blunder. She looked down, about to make to go down again. But Wade was at the bottom of the fire escape by that time, and had begun climbing. The woman growled, then looked back up at Peter with new determination. She started climbing up. Peter shot webs down at her, securing both her fists to the ladder she climbed. She stared at her webbed up trapped hands, and started yanking with all her strength. The ladder shuddered, rocked back and forth, squealed and banged. 

Peter started to climb down, trying to make it to her before something shitty and expectedly unexpected happened. 

Wade climbed up, slightly closer to the woman, who was now like an animal, trying to violently yank her hands away from the ladder, the webs keeping her there. 

Peter realized with eyes slightly wide that she was pulling her section of the ladder away from the top section, the screws coming loose like the last bit of sanity Peter possessed. 

Peter moved faster. 

The woman looked up at him and snarled at him, baring her teeth. She stopped yanking her hands with the ladder practically hanging from threads. All three of them froze, breaths caught in relief. At the height the woman and Wade were, about eight stories, the fall would not be pretty. 

“ _ Who are you _ ?!” Peter yelled breathlessly down at the woman, finding their position of him holding on to the ladder facing out and looking down at the woman five rungs below him a bit awkward. 

The woman glared at him, then glanced at the joints on the rung below Peter where her section of the ladder and his connected. She looked back at him. 

“The only person I’ve ever loved is in prison because of you.” 

Peter barely had time to frown before she yanked hard once more with her hands, stuck to the ladder. With a jolt, her section of the ladder broke free of its screws connecting it to the top half and at the same time, she yanked her hands free of the webs, short, but deadly looking claws sprouted bloodily from the beds of her fingernails. 

She pushed off the rung of the falling ladder, using it to launch herself upwards, towards Peter. 

Peter moved rolling across the wall as if it were the floor, sticking to the side of the building. The woman’s head connected nastily with one of the ladder rungs, hands grappling for purchase as she had anticipated colliding with Peter. 

Peter watched as she shook her head violently, as though a concession were something one could simply brush off. Her head snapped back over to Peter, but Peter wasn’t looking at her. 

Instead, he was looking down at Wade, who hung on to a windowsill with one hand. With the other, he shot Peter a thumbs up. Peter blinked, then looked up at the woman again, betraying nothing through his mask. 

“Fucking spider freak!” She yelled in frustration. 

“Yeah, never heard that one before,” Peter said sarcastically, then glanced down towards Wade without moving his head. Wade was pulling himself up on the windowsill, struggling slightly, because even though Wade could throw Peter around like a sack of flour, and carried about four thousand fucking weapons on his back--he still had trouble with his own fucking body weight when he was dangling precariously from the edge of a windowsill?

“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” Peter tried again.

“I told you, you stupid fuck!” 

Peter rolled his eyes. To think, less than two hours ago he had been asleep. His head still hurt.

“Yes, yes, I know, ‘ _ the only person I’ve ever loved is in prison because of you’ _ , but who? I don’t understand,” Peter said. And he genuinely wanted to. Needed to know. 

It was almost like, for half a second, the woman shattered. Like her bared teeth broke from the pressure, and her veins popped, and everything seeped out of her. 

“The bank…” She said. Then it all came crashing back. Teeth reconstructed. Veins patched and reinflating. Rage rising back to her newly brightened yellow eyes. 

Peter could have kicked himself.  _ A fifth bank robber? Really? Man, he really sucked at his job lately.  _

Peter was about to open his mouth to say something, though he wasn’t really sure what. Then the woman lunged. 

She held on to the ladder with one hand, and lashed out with the rest of her body, tip of her shoe almost nailing Peter in the side. 

Peter scrambled, crawling up the side of the building in the most reminenscent way of his namesake. The woman climbed up the ladder. Peter had to get there first. Unfortunately, it seemed his new mutant pal had just a bit more speedy-juice than he. Peter shot a web up, and pulled himself to the top again, feet landing on the edge of the building at the top of the ladder when the woman was almost two rungs away. She froze, one hand frozen in the air, reaching for the next rung. 

Peter stared down at her. Now was the part where he told her there was nowhere to go. When he webbed her and pulled her up onto the roof and webbed her some more and knocked her out...and probably webbed her some more. Then he’d figure out where to take her. 

If she reached up to try and grab his ankle, he’d web her. If she tried to attack him, she’d be at a disadvantage. 

But none of this happened, as while they were fucking about, Wade had pulled himself up. Climbed the ladder under the woman without her noticing, without Peter noticing. 

She wasn’t expecting it, and it was all too easy for Wade to wrap his hands around her legs, and fall. 

“Wade-- _ no! _ ” 

Is there anytime people actually yell when it’s not too late? 

Well, sure there is. But now was not one of those times. 

Wade’s head was split open. Most of the woman was sprawled on top of him, still; but Peter couldn’t tell if she was alive her dead. All he could tell was the feeling of exhaustion that swept over him. Deflating his shoulders like untied balloons. 

He almost missed it when the woman twitched, then dragged herself up off Wade’s corpse. 

Peter sputtered, then stared with wide eyes. Wade’s body had cushioned her fucking head from the  _ splat  _ of the pavement. She dragged herself off Wade, then Peter watched, squinting through the darkness, as she psychically with her hands twisted her leg back into the position it was supposed to be with a cry. 

She looked up once. Peter didn’t know if she could see him, still at the top of the building like a fucking idiot. 

She groaned, and picked herself up off the ground. 

Peter started running full speed down the side of the building. 

He jumped of a few feet from the ground, and landed several feet away from Wade’s body. Despite her injuries, the woman was making pretty good time down the street, towards the large iron gates of Westchaster Park that were at the end of it. A large landscape of grass, trees, and darkness. 

Peter wanted to chase after her. Felt it in his legs. They tingled, ached to run. He could no longer see her, but heard it when the woman pulled herself up onto the locked gate, and then heard the clanging of the iron again, presumably when the woman jumped down from it on the other side. 

Instead of going after her, he dropped to his knees next to Wade’s head, and pulled off his sopping-with-blood mask. 

 

Wade’s eyes popped open to find Peter staring indignantly down at him. 

Wade blinked. 

“What the actual  _ fuck  _ was that?!” 

Wade lifted himself up onto his elbows. Peter stood up, stood up quickly, exuding rage in fluffy melted marshmallow waves. 

Peter licked his lips, then ran his hand over his mouth. 

“There has to be other ways we can win fights,” he muttered angrily, glancing off to the side. 

Wade looked up at him and gave him a questioning look.

Peter fumed, and took a step closer, clutching both their masks in one hand at his side tighter in his fist. 

“Ways where, you know, you don’t have to kill yourself every five fucking seconds.” 

Wade was no expert in these types of conversations--anyone could tell you that--but the middle of trying to find and subdue an angry wolf-mutant-woman in the middle of the night seemed like an inopportune moment. There were  _ so many  _ werewolf and horror movie jokes he could be making right now. 

“But that’s, like...literally my  _ only  _ power,” Wade finally said. 

Peter looked back at him, unimpressed. Wade pushed up onto his knees, joints cracking, stiff after being dead for a hot--or rather  _ cold _ \--minute. 

Peter crossed his arms, and Wade rose to his feet, taking a baby step closer. Or back. He wasn’t sure. 

“Does that bother you?” Wade asked, confusion evident in his voice. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Peter responded, exasperated, like it was obvious or something. 

“Why?” 

“‘Cause if I see you die one more fucking time, I’m going to lose my mind.” 

Whomp. There it is. 

Wade blinked. 

They were silent for several seconds. 

“Oh,” he said. 

They stared at each other. 

“Peter...Why are we doing this?” 

Peter looked up, anger turning to some other emotion: sad and confused. 

“What...what are you talking about?” He asked, voice edged with concern. 

Wade looked at the ground, not meeting the other man’s eyes. 

“I’ve hurt you...so many times,” Wade said. He could feel the pain radiating off Peter like he had a spidey sense of his own. “We keep going around in this goddamn circle--like you said, just...over and over and over, and things get a little better, then they get worse, and we just--we keep...hurting.” 

Wade was scared to look up. 

Peter looked absolutely terrified. 

“Wade--” He said, and his voice cracked. He looked at the ground. There were so many things he could say. He could go on, and  _ on, and on, and on _ …

He cleared his throat and found his voice again. 

“Some people are worth hurting for.” 

Wade stared at him, eyes watering, like hearing a fucking paraphrased  _ Frozen  _ reference was the most romantic thing he had ever heard in his life--because it fucking  _ was _ . 

Peter took a step forward. Licked his lips. 

“I’m not scared of you. I’m not ready to ask why I’m doing this, I  _ know  _ why I’m doing this, Wade.” 

Wade was frozen.

**Ba dum tiss**

_ Shuddap  _

**bitch.**

Wade was having an  _ Error 404  _ issue. 

To hear that Peter wasn’t scared of him? Of all the shit and pain and whateverthefuck that they’d both already dealth with and would inevitably experience over and over again in their relationship? That he was gonna be there even when Wade himself wasn’t there, like a fucking asshole. That even though Wade  _ wasn’t  _ worth shit...this young, gorgeous,  _ Amazing Spiderman _ , Peter Parker wasn’t gonna give him up--

_ Never gonna let you down!  _

\--because he just loved him that motherfucking much. 

Wade wanted to bite through his own g’damn tongue.

Wade suddenly remembered he had hands. He stepped forward, right into the pool of his own blood, and grabbed Peter’s face, bringing it to his. He kissed him and it felt better than any Mia Thermopolis foot-popping bullshit he had ever been promised as a kid. 

Peter responded in kind, leaning up into him and hands on Wade’s waist, the one with their masks still bunched up just closed in a fist. 

After several seconds, Peter made a noise, and pulled back just the slightest bit. A tear slipped down Wade’s cheek. 

“Wade,” Peter said quietly. 

“Yeah?” 

Peter lifted his free hand and wiped away Wade’s tear, then kissed the corner of his mouth shortly. 

“We still have to find the werewolf.” 

Wade froze. 

Peter looked up at him. 

“Are you telling me that  _ MOTHERFUCKER  _ isn’t  _ DEAD YET?!”  _ Wade shrieked. 

Peter winced, and leaned back. 

“Cujo lives. She ran into the park.” 

Wade spun around, looking at the faintly outlined iron gates of Westchaster Park. 

“Holy fuck, she’s like a cockroach!” 

Peter patted his shoulder. 

Wade turned around, slightly hesitant. He struggled for words for a few seconds. 

“I love you,” he finally said, in lieu of anything else. 

Peter grinned. 

“I know.” 

_ We just got han-fucking-soloed.  _

Peter handed Wade’s mask back over, and they both pulled their masks back over their heads. Wade’s was still pretty soggy. 

They ran towards the gate. 

 

**Approximately, like, 26-ish minutes later?**

 

It seemed that Peter spent a lot of time waiting around for Wade to resurrect. Batshit, considering he was Jewish. 

But here he was, sitting in the grass next to his thoroughly ribboned boyfriend, waiting for his body to pull itself back together. 

It was these quiet moments that Peter often found himself reflecting. Like a period of mourning that only lasted a hot minute. 

Life with Wade was a whirlwind. That was one word of thousands Peter could conjure to describe it. He never would have thought...yeah, no. He never in a million  _ years  _ would have thought that his life would turn out like this. Sitting on top of buildings eating all the different take-out foods imaginable with the least imaginable character he could have ever conceived. Running around New York City in spandex and leather like two nerds at a kink convention, saving people-- _ hunting things _ . Occasionally sobbing his goddamn eyes out whenever he couldn’t save someone-- _ including Wade _ . Passing out on the couch watching some stupid show, body draped over the Merc with a Mouth’s. 

Despite the scene--unconscious werewolf (sorry-- _ mutant _ ) and torn-to-pieces boyfriend hardly made for a cheery setting--Peter didn’t feel...horrible. And horrible had been kicking his ass lately. 

Yeah, Wade was six spaghetti noodles past over-cooked pasta, he blamed himself for most things regular people with senses of self worth would never blame themselves for, and he had the moral compass of an angry iguana...but he was so much  _ more  _ than that. From the way he held Peter like he was shielding him from the whole damn world, and how he spoke a mile a minute about anything under the sun, but knew how to listen when it counted. How he looked at Peter. 

Big blue eyes like he was all the damn stars in the sky. 

Who else would he swing around the city with, fighting crime and cracking jokes? Watch YouTube and  _ Food Network _ ? Be woken up by at 3:00am and promptly be dragged into the kitchen, or some 24 hour restaurant or store to eat all their feelings and bad dreams? Make fun of other superheroes with? Complain about shitty professors with? Who else would find the same stupid, insane, occasionally morbid things as amusing as Peter? Who else would cause Peter to be so bewildered and full of love at the same time? Who else would go on an “adventure” with a redheaded teenager trying to get a duffle bag full of money back from an abusive ex? Who else would Peter fall apart with at every little crack in the road, from accidental scratches during sex, to full on trying to outright murder each other? 

Peter sure as fuck wouldn’t have stayed with anyone else for so long. Would sure as fuck’ve crumbled under anyone else’s insane antics, and self loathing, and inability to communicate. 

Peter looked down at his boyfriend, whose body was almost completely repaired. He set his hand on Wade’s head. A few moments later, Wade’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Hey,” Wade said, voice slightly hoarse for some reason. 

Peter grinned down at him. 

“‘S beautiful night,” Wade said, glancing around at the park, the night sky above them. The unconscious body of the woman who tried to kill them securely webbed to the ground some handful of feat away.

“ _ I’m lookin’ for somethin’ dumb to do _ …” Peter sang, off key, smiling down at Wade. 

_ Like he was all the damn stars in the sky _ . 

Wade turned back to him, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Peter stroked his hand against the side of Wade’s face, their eyes--and Peter’s stupid smile--still locked. 

“Hey, baby?” Peter said, as though about to ask what he wanted for dinner, or if he remembered to lock the front door when they left the apartment. 

Wade stared at him, confused, terrified, and hesitant expression still struck on his face. And--with the air of one confirming a fairly simple decision, Peter said (with confidence): 

“I think I wanna marry you.” 

Then the sound of a bullet being ejected from the chamber of a gun rang out. Big Phat Bang. Lodged right between Peter’s eyes. Perfect little crimson hole.

_ How better to fuck you with _ . 

Wade screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know...I said it’d get better though! And you’re probably like “Bitch, HOW?!”   
> Don’t worry, I have a plan. The next installment (like its brethren beforehand) has the first...I’d say 3-4 chapters all pretty much mapped out, so...don’t worry!   
> Also, VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION: Do y’all like the Tony/Steve bits? The next installment isn’t going to feature them as much, but I am considering featuring ANOTHER different Marvel pair that I particularly like, so lemme know in the comments if you like the bits with other pairings!   
> Also, I don’t really know how it came to be that there was so much Tony/Steve in this, as I don’t really care for the ship, or the characters that much, it just sort of...happened.   
> Anyway, Thank you so much for reading (and kudosing and commenting if you did so!) this fic! It really means so much to me and propels me to keep on writing it and putting chapters out!   
> You guys are literally the best, especially the ones who have stuck around this far to be reading this bullshit. Alright, see you in the next one! Thanks!

**Author's Note:**

> wooow...A lot happened in this chapter. I feel like this was sort of...idk, sort of an over view? A kind of vague summary of where Peter and Wade are at mentally for you to ponder? Yeah, that's bullshit, I have no fucking clue. Hope you liked it though! The ending felt a little rushed, but...eh. I'm a lazy asshole who craves validation. 
> 
> I have a tumblr, come talk to me if you want: insidious-now


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